Vessel of Fire - Catalyst
by ElvenWhovian
Summary: Book 3 of 3 - Bergil, Son of Beregond has grown up surrounded by incredible events. So when he finds himself traveling with a dragon-like creature and a mysterious girl named Claire, it's no great surprise. Yet their journey is only a precursor to a long awaited confrontation that will not only decide the fate of Middle-earth, but other worlds as well. No slash. PG-13 Violence.
1. Prologue - Part 1

Ask, and it will be given to you;

seek, and you will find;

knock, and it will be opened to you.

**Matthew 7:7**

**Prologue**  
Part 1

It had been 36 years. At least that was how long Elrain thought it was.

36 years of exhausting chasing, trying, and scheming. Yet still the Realm Jumpers were no closer to catching the Abberator. Elrain had been quite hopeful when she joined the team. She had been assigned to pursuit while others were appointed to intel and research. She was content with that. Whoever this man was, he evaded capture like none of them had ever seen. Few of them had even gotten a glimpse of him and those who did reported that he wore a mask. None had ever seen his face. He was a shadow wrapped in a mystery.

A few years ago they had changed tactics. An attempt to trap rather than pursue the Abberator was now in the works. Elrain however was growing weary of this. Years of trying so hard and failing over and over were wearing on her. She was starting to wonder what the point of all this was and if it would ever end.

She was almost unrecognizable nowadays, even in forms she had been in before. Elrain had cut her hair very short and ditched her long black coat. Such things only reminded her of days when she felt like she was actually doing something with her life. Again and again she cried out to Eru and implored Him to put her on a different mission. The answer was always no.

And now after 36 years of fruitless monotony, she was back in the technologically advance city of Catrel on her way to help in another Realm Jumper endeavor. As Elrain stared out of the window of the anti-grav transport, the darkness of the night and the heavy rain made the colored lights of the city drip down the glass in shining quivering ribbons.

Across from her, on the other side of the transport passenger area, sat Beryl, Elrain's friend and fellow Realm Jumper. Beryl was in her natural form as a humanoid blue bird. Both she and Elrain wore black tactical gear and matching black long sleeve shirts and pants. Elrain's name in Catrel was "Elara", another of her favorite titles across the worlds.

Beryl tapped at the screen of her data pad with her taloned nails and then rubbed her beak as the device buzzed and hummed. The two of them had sat in silence for the past hour. Now that they were nearing their destination, Beryl seemed to think it was time to talk.

"I'm sorry you're becoming burned out," the bird-like female said in her high sharp voice. "I haven't been on this assignment nearly as long as you and it already has me frustrated."

Elrain didn't answer and continued to stare out of the window.

"I just received some new intel from a contact of mine," Beryl said. "It's about Lylara...you know...that world _he_ destroyed. I think you'll find it interesting."

Elrain pulled her eyes away from the window. She rubbed a hand over her face. "Go on."

"My contact in the Beta quadrant, section 5, found out that the Abberator had been to Lylara once before. Before he destroyed it of course. Apparently, he found his way there by accident and was nearly killed."

Beryl handed the data pad to Elrain. The dark haired Realm Jumper reluctantly took it from her. As she studied the device, Beryl continued. "He wasn't killed, but according to my contact's intel, his wife was."

Elrain looked up. "His wife? I hadn't heard that the Abberator had a wife."

Beryl nodded. The feathers around her face twitched as she said slowly, "The Lylaran's murdered her."

"So he destroyed the world for revenge then," Elrain asked.

"That's the current theory. Still doesn't explain everything. However, I did find out something interesting about Lylara." Beryl leaned in close and cocked her head thoughtfully. "Did you know it was plagued by a terrible disease?"

Elrain's brow furrowed. "No. I visited there once, but it was in the early days of that world."

Beryl shook her feathery head regretfully. "It only affected those who bore children; the females of their race. The disease became so widespread that if a female got pregnant, they were assumed to have it. It was discovered before their 8th Civil War."

"What were the effects of the disease?"

"A considerably shorter life span and a very unpleasant death. Women who decided to have children were considered martyrs in their culture; those who made a sacrifice so that their people wouldn't die out. My contact said that in its later days, any Realm Jumpers who were female were forbidden to go Lylara at all. And those few that journeyed to Lylara after the discovery of the disease were forbidden to bring anyone out of that land. The disease needed to stay contained."

Beryl rubbed her eyes. Elrain could tell that this was heavy content for her. "There are some who say it was a mercy that Lylara was destroyed," Beryl said solemnly.

She took the datapad from Elrain and pulled up an image. Beryl handed it back to the dark haired woman and pointed at it. The picture was a photograph of a flag.

"This is the only artifact we have left to ever come out of Lylara. It's the symbol of the last royal house on the eastern continent. The flag is in a museum on another planet in this world… it's all that's left of that realm."

Elrain gazed at the flag with wide eyes. That symbol. She had seen it before...but where? Beryl said more but Elrain didn't hear her. She was focused, haunted even, by the symbol. Then she remembered.

"Are you sure?" Elrain said.

"Am I sure of what?"

"That this flag is the only thing left of Lylara?"

Beryl cocked her head in confusion. "So far as I know. Why?"

Elrain looked down at the datapad again. The symbol of a six petal flower glowed back at her from the screen.

"No reason," she said. "Just curious."

Beryl smiled. "Glad to see you curious about anything these days."

Elrain handed the datapad back to Beryl and then changed the subject.

"So this exhibition we are going to...Project: Arsenal… do you think this is going to work?"

"I'm not sure," the bird-like female said. "The Abberator seems to have an affinity for time traveling artifacts so Catrel is a good place for us to set our part of the trap." Beryl huffed. "Project: Arsenal … why do we have to give everything a fancy name? Project: _Here-goes-nothing_ would be more accurate."

Elrain laughed a little and it felt good. Beryl was always able to lift her spirits in the right way.

Project: Arsenal was the Realm Jumpers' most recent attempt to lure the Abberator to them. In the past few years of his reign of chaos, the Abberator exhibited a pattern of theft. He had an affinity for time-traveling relics or objects that manipulated time. However most items of that nature had a shelf life or use limit, so he was always showing up across the worlds to steal more. Thus the Realm Jumpers were setting up a simultaneous trap. Hundreds of locations across the worlds, all with highly valuable collections of time-traveling relics with the hope that at least one of them would attract the fiend's attention.

"Catrel has one of the largest archives of time traveling items in this quadrant," Beryl said. "I spoke with the curator and she was more than happy to help me set up the bait. Oh and I almost forgot..."

Beryl reached into a bag sitting next to her on the seat. She pulled out two objects. One looked like a metal cuff. The other was a device much like the one Beryl had used to scan the mysterious door back in Middle-earth.

"You will need these," the feathery creature said. "Despite all the mystery, we have made some progress. Do you remember Tristan? The Realm Jumper we worked with back on Mardon 4? Well, he was on mission in a small back water world and was able to record the Abberator's temporal and phasic signature. The cuff is designed to inhibit the temporal conductivity of molecules at that specific frequency, thought it would probably inhibit the average person just the same. It's just an extra precaution."

"It freezes them in time," Elrain clarified.

"Yes. If you find the Abberator, snap this cuff on his wrist and he will be as stiff as a statue."

Elrain arched an eyebrow and then turned her attention to the other device.

"That of course is a radiometer," Beryl said. "It measures just about any wavelength or biometric signature. I have the Abberator's signature programed into the memory. This will help you narrow him down if you have any doubts. Don't want to put the cuff on the wrong person."

Elrain was fascinated by the specificity of the data. "How did Tristan get close enough to get such a clear reading," she asked. "I mean, we haven't even seen the Abberator much less had a chance to scan him. And I thought Tristan was exiled to his home world for breaking sanctions."

Beryl's eyes darted to the side. "Well, that is correct. Tristan is exiled. As for the Abberator, let's just say that he was distracted at the time. He had his eyes on an artifact and Tristan was able to sneak up behind him."

"Where did this take place," Elrain asked. She could tell that Beryl was hiding something.

"Narnia," the bird said at last.

Elrain nearly dropped the radiometer. "Wha - what? Narnia? Tristan was in Narnia? How…?"

"He broke the sanctions," Beryl said with downcast eyes. All Realm Jumpers knew that entering a sanctioned world had grave consequences. Narnia had been a sanctioned world for nearly its entire existence.

The transport shook as it touched down. Elrain was still processing what she had heard. She knew that the Abberator could travel to any world and gave no regard to sanctions. In addition to that, he could travel through time, which made him even more dangerous. Yet it was the fact that he had been in Narnia, the land that Elrain so longed to get to, that made her blood run cold. He had been in the same world with that witch, Jadis, who had destroyed Elrain's home world of Charn. Jadis had been the only one left of her kind and it made Elrain sick to her stomach to think the Abberator and the former empress might be working together.

She put the thought aside as they exited the transport. The exhibit for their part of Project: Arsenal was housed in a large museum on the northern end of the city. As they walked through the rain to the entrance, Elrain looked up at the impressive structure in front of them. It was solid white, but in misty the night of the city, it reflected a myriad of colored lights.

As Beryl and Elrain entered the doors of the museum, they were greeted by a familiar face.

"Well well well! If it isn't my favorite detective."

A man with short buzz cut chestnut hair strode up to them.

"Elara," Beryl said, addressing Elrain by her Catrellian name, "This is Arcadius. I assume you two have met?"

"Indeed we have," Arcadius said. "Elara has the best right hook of anyone I've ever met. I should know." He winked at Elrain and the tall dark haired woman smirked back at him.

"Glad to see you've recovered from our last mission in Catrel," she remarked.

Arcadius smiled. "I bounce back pretty quickly." He turned to Beryl and said, "The Curator is waiting for you. Follow me."

As they walked down a long back hallway, Arcadius filled the two female Realm Jumpers in on the situation.

"The Curator has spared no expense for this mission. Apparently she knows a lot of people in very high places so she's been able to procure some extremely rare items that I think our _friend_ may come looking for.

They entered a large pillared room filled with display cases and pedestals. The marble walls and ceiling gave the room a cold echoing feeling and Elrain shivered. On the far end of the room was a female in a striking red dress. Her back was to them as they approached.

"Friends, this is Derillia," Arcadius said. "She is the Curator of this fine establishment."

Derillia turned. She was a beautiful humanoid woman with striking features and black hair pulled back into a bun. She smiled at the visitors and said, "Welcome! Thank you both for coming tonight. I'm hopeful that the Catrel Museum of Cultural Enhancement can be of service to you."

Beryl shook Derillia's hand, but when it was offered to Elrain, the tall dark haired Realm Jumper was frozen stiff. She was trying to breathe as panic and confusion rose in her chest. The woman before her was all too familiar. Elrain hadn't noticed it at first because the woman's hair was pulled back. Yet as she looked at her, it finally clicked.

_Morlyg._ This woman looked _exactly_ like Morlyg. Of course Morlyg's appearance in Middle-earth had only been one of her forms; one of many that she had stolen from the blood of those she killed. Elrain was having trouble understanding how this was possible. This woman wasn't Morlyg, but she looked exactly like her down to the clothes that she wore.

"Elara, are you well?" Arcadius asked.

Elrain blinked and shook her head. She put on a fake smile and took the woman's hand.

"I'm terribly sorry. Must be the rain messing with my head. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The woman eyed her for a moment and then said, "It's quite alright. Please allow me to give you a tour of the items we have procured for you. I think you'll find them very interesting."

As the four people walked around the perimeter of the room, Derillia explained many of the various pieces. All of them had something to do with time travel. At one particular display case, Elrain was again dumbstruck. So many bizarre coincidences were happening at the same time, she didn't know how to process it all. This whole situation was entirely confusing and Derillia's description of the item didn't help either.

"This is the Staff of Cartesian," the Curator said. "It was made in a long forgotten world by people who were the most impatient race known to all who travel between realms. They were always looking ahead and never back. It can be used to travel forward in time, but there are caveats."

Derillia continued to describe its properties and usefulness as Elrain stared at the wooden staff. It was exactly like the one the Owl had possessed, except, according to the plaque mounted on the case, this staff had never been used. The one that the Owl had with her had been used at least once to Elrain's knowledge and she herself had been the one who had used it.

"Are there more" Elrain asked, interrupting Derillia. "Are there more of these in existence or is this the only one?"

"It is unique," Derillia said slowly. "Why? Have you seen another somewhere? To my knowledge it is one of a kind and extremely valuable. I only gathered the best for this trap you are setting."

Elrain realized that they were all staring at her. Beryl laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Elara, are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes I'm fine," Elrain said. When that didn't seem to satisfy her friend, she added, "I'll explain later."

Soon the tour was over and the guests were taken up to the security room. In this room were countless screens that showed feeds from cameras in every corner of the building. They also had cameras outside to monitor all exits and entrances. A fly couldn't have entered without them knowing.

"In the next few hours, the exhibition will be announced on the city network feed and available to the public," Derillia said. "We of course hope that when that happens your 'friend' will show his face. I assume you have methods for dealing with him?"

Beryl nodded. The three Realm Jumpers were armed to the teeth, Elrain most of all. Her weapon of choice in recent days was a tactical staff that was nearly as long as she was tall and made of hardened Catrellian obsidian. In order to travel with such a weapon, she carried it in a molecular compactor, a device which shrunk things in order to carry them more conveniently. With a push of a button, her staff was available to be drawn at full size from a foot long holster on her back. At her side was a modified blaster pistol commissioned by the Chancellor of Catrel himself. Such a weapon was illegal in the city otherwise.

Beryl carried a similar pistol and two curved swords which were slung across her back as well. Arcadius had a quantum photon rifle on his person. If anyone so much as looked at them the wrong way, they would be pulverized before they could blink.

Elrain sat down at one of the control panels in the security room and scrolled through the read out. At a nod from Derillia, she initialized the lockdown. As the doors around the building were shut tight, Elrain said, "All sensors are active and the perimeter is secure. When did you say the exhibition was going on the network?"

"Approximately 2 hours," Derillia said. "I'm going to make a few more preparations before we get this rolling. If you'll excuse me."

The Curator exited the room and left Elrain, Beryl, and Arcadius alone with the hundreds of security feeds.

"Are you feeling alright Elara," Arcadius asked. "You seemed to be very distracted earlier."

Elrain stared at the security feed and watched as Derillia entered the exhibit. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully and said, "I've seen that woman before."

"Where," Beryl asked.

"It's hard to explain. She-"

Elrain's attention was drawn to one of the screens showing the main foyer. The caption on the read out said "Motion detected" but they could see no one.

"Is anyone else in this Museum" Beryl asked as she too gazed at the monitor.

Arcadius shook his head. "We should be the only one's here."

Suddenly on another monitor, a shadow passed over the camera and was gone.

"There!" Elrain shouted as she pointed at the screen. "Someone is there."

"But the perimeter is secure," Beryl said.

The truth hit all three of them at once.

"Whatever that is," Arcadius said. "It was here before we arrived."

The three of them watched as the shadow passed over another camera and then another. It was making its way through the museum so fast they could hardly keep up.

Beryl pulled up a map of the building and gasped. "It's headed for the exhibit."

On a monitor the three of them could see Derillia walking through the time travel artifact exhibit. Whatever that thing was, it would be there soon.

Elrain jumped up from her chair and reached for her tactical staff. With a click, she was able to draw it out at its full size. Without a word, she dashed out of the control room and toward the exhibit. Elrain was running as fast as she could. This might be a false alarm and it might not. Better to be sure.

The com that was in here ear chirped and the next thing that Elrain heard made her heart begin to race even more.

"It's him! He's in the Exhibit! He's...he's…"

"He's what?!" Elrain yelled as she continued to run down the corridor.

"He murdered Derillia."

Elrain wasn't sure she had heard right, yet as she skidded into the exhibit hall, she realized to her dismay that she had. In the echoing cold of the marble room, Elrain beheld a tall person clad in black from head to toe. He was standing with Derillia's lifeless form in his hands. Her throat had been slit and her blood poured out onto the floor.

Yet two things caught Elrain off guard. First was the vial. This man was catching Derillia's blood in a vial as the liquid dripped from her throat. The second thing was the man's face. He wore a mask, but not just a mask to cover his face. It had a sort of breathing apparatus hooked to it. There was no doubt in her mind. She was standing no more than 30 feet away from the Abberator himself.

Elrain stopped thinking and acted. She rushed forward, the end of her staff spinning around to catch him across the face. The Abberator dropped Derillia's lifeless body and his left arm came up to meet Elrain's weapon. He still gripped the vial of blood in his right hand. Elrain pulled back for another blow, but the man shot his hand forward supernaturally fast and caught her on the jaw. She flew back and smashed into one of the display cases. When Elrain had gathered herself from the bent metal and the broken glass, she looked up to see him dashing out of the museum.

She was too close. He wouldn't get away this time. Nothing short of death itself would stop her. She couldn't lose this chance.

Elrain reached down and picked up her staff. After putting it back in its harness, she pulled out her gun. As she ran, she changed a setting on her weapon with a few taps to its holographic interface. Bursting out of the main entrance and onto the street, she saw the dark figure speeding away on a conventional motorbike. Nearby a young man had a similar bike parked on the curb.

"I need your transport," Elrain said frantically. The young man blinked a few times not comprehending the situation. Elrain dug in her pocket and pulled out a wad of Catrellian cash that she kept for situations just like this. The young man's eyes widened and he took the money from Elrain. She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him off his bike. As he began to walk away, she snatched the helmet from his head, and before he could turn around to object, she was speeding away down the busy street.

Navigating traffic on the terrestrial level was a nightmare in Catrel especially in the rain, but with a small bike like this Elrain was able to bob and weave her way through the myriad of ground transports.

"I have the Abberator in my sights. Repeat: I have the Abberator in my sights."

"Stay on him," Beryl replied in her com. "We are tracking you. Can you get a tracker on him?"

"Already on it," Elrain said as she raised her blaster. The man in black was only a few cars ahead of her now, but with them both going at full speed it was difficult to get a clear shot. She prayed for good aim as she pulled the trigger. The blaster fired and she hit her mark. The tracker was an Aura signature, a biological substance that was absorbed into any surface it hit. It was temporary, but it couldn't be removed. The tracker was now embedded on his left shoulder.

"Got him!" Beryl shouted. "I have him on the monitor."

"Where is he going?" Elrain said.

"I can't tell. Can you serrzzzch rrrrr-"

Elrain's com suddenly filled with static. "Beryl? Come in, Beryl. Beryl!"

There was no answer. Elrain then realized that she had lost sight of the Abberator and she mentally kicked herself for it.

But she wasn't done yet. She pulled off into a nearby ally and parked the bike. She pulled the helmet off of her head and immediately took out her Radiometer. She could track the Aura signature even if she couldn't contact Beryl. The read out pinged and a small green dot began to blink.

"Gotcha," she breathed.

She transferred the readout to the helmet's display. After riding through the city for a few blocks she finally parked a few yards from the location of the green indicator dot. As Elrain crept down an alleyway, the green dot on her radiometer blinked faster. At last she peeked around a corner and there, in the light of a dim street lamp, she saw him.

"Beryl, come in," she whispered.

Her com buzzed for a moment, until at last she heard Beryl's frantic voice on the other end.

"Praise the Maker! We thought we'd lost you. Where are you?"

"I'm in an alley further up into the city," Elrain whispered.

The Abberator turned so that Elrain could see his hands. In them he held a small wooden box. With a soft click, he popped it open. Elrain remembered this.

"Beryl," she hissed. "He's about to jump realms." Elrain reached for her ring and pulled it from its chain.

"Elara wait," Beryl pleaded. "I know what you are thinking, but if you jump without the proper planning or calculations…"

"I know the risk. We can't lose him now."

"But the paradox-"

"Goodbye Beryl. Give my regards to Arcadius." Elrain pulled the com from her ear and threw it on the ground. The Abberator reached into the box and touched something inside. Instantly he vanished.

Elrain put on her ring and the ground beneath her feet fell away.

She was rushing upwards. Above her she could see him. In the ever brightening blue, he was a dark unnatural shape. He burst out of the pool before her and disappeared. In the midst of her ascension, Elrain drew her gun and switched the setting. The only thing this would track now was the Abberator's death.

Elrain burst out of the pool, spinning mid-air, and landing in a crouch, her pistol aimed and ready to shoot.

"Stop!" she commanded as the dark man in the mask ran away into the wood.

When he didn't listen, she took off at the fastest speed she could manage. She fired off a few shots and the Abberator ducked every one. She was gaining on him as she jumped over pools and weaved between trees. So close. _So close._ Years of wasted time were finally going to come to an end.

Suddenly he stopped and Elrain ducked his arm as his fist flew towards her. She skidded in the grass as she narrowly missed his attack. She spun on her heels, fired a shot, and missed as he jerked out of the way. He was fast. Faster than anyone she had ever encountered. The mask he wore had two lens-like eyes and the cold metal visage made him look more monster than man.

He took off back the way they had come, but then he was suddenly gone. Elrain skidded to a stop at the edge of a pool. He had entered another world. She was about to do the same until she noticed which world it was.

_The Silent Realm._

Elrain began to shake. She fell to her knees, her eyes filling with tears.

"NO! I'm so close!"

He had entered one of the worlds that she could not. The Silent Realm, or as Claeo had called it so long ago, _Earth._ It was sanctioned and forbidden to Realm Jumpers. Claeo had come from it and she had been a Realm Jumper, but she seemed to be the exception to the rule.

As Elrain sat there in the grass, she began to remember a few things. Small things that suddenly connected. She also remembered poor Tristan and the penalty he had to pay. Would it be worth it to face the consequences?

_Victory does not come without sacrifice._

The words that the Owl had spoken to her long ago echoed in Elrain's mind.

The dark haired Realm Jumper stood and wiped the tears from her face. It made sense now. Even though she would be breaking the rules, she knew that there was no other option.

She slipped on her ring and entered the Silent Realm.


	2. Letter 1

**Letter #1**

Dearest Brother,

I hope that you are well and that life in Eregion has been profitable for you. The search for Mithril is a noble endeavor and I trust that Celebrimbor is a just leader. I have heard that you have learned much from the dwarves in ways of stonework, construction, and design. They are a strange yet resourceful people indeed and I am glad that you are able to learn as much as you can from them.

In the years since we last parted much has happened. I have taken a wife. Her name is Melda. She is the daughter of Orwa who you may remember from when we last saw each other. Orwa is a good leader in our settlement. Men have already spread across the northern regions, but we are at peace with them and they have allowed us to live quiet lives. Considering that only a few hundred years ago the world and its powers were at war, it is understandable that all would wish for peace.

The days here have been profitable, but my studies have sorely lacked. The forging of gems seems to be a dying art amongst our kind and it is more difficult to find the resources I need to continue my experiments. But Melda is kind and supportive despite any setbacks. She is my greatest treasure.

I realize that finding travelers to carry such notes is difficult, but I would very much like to hear from you. I miss the days when we were young and never left each other's side. You are sorely missed dear brother. Be well.

Yours,

G


	3. The Restless Dreamer

**The Restless Dreamer**

Memory is a funny thing.

That was what Claire Bernhart had come to realize in the past 6 months. It was hard to put into words what was going on in her brain. It was difficult to tell if she was enlightened or if she was going mad.

What had started as a story made up in her head back in 2003 had become so much more. The characters and people that populated her sketches seemed to take on more life. They _meant_ something. What that something was, she couldn't say. In the previous December she had entertained the idea that they meant something more. That Prisca, Peregrin, Elrain, and Laemellon were not just characters she had made up or read about. They were _real_. Her story was _real_. Yet how could that be? Such things were impossible.

But her emotions told her otherwise. She found herself missing the people in her drawings. Yet because she had never met these people who didn't exist, that seemed ridiculous. In the past she had exhibited affinities for made up characters; what nerdy teenage girl hasn't? But this was different. At times she felt something akin to _grief_ and as time went on, it started to wear on her. Claire often found herself sitting in her room staring out at the setting sun and wishing for a time long past that she couldn't remember.

It was the summer of 2005. Her second year of high school was coming to and end and she was about to turn 16. But while all the other girls around her were obsessed with boys and thinking about college, Claire felt stuck. She had let this strange grief fester in her mind. This unexplainable, intangible loss she had suffered was turning her into a cynic. While everyone was looking forward to the future, Claire never ceased to look back. The future seemed empty.

Sitting in Sunday School class one morning, she brooded in the back row. The 10th grade teacher, a man named Mr. Kendrick who was in his late 30s, wrote out the Bible Verse Matthew 7:7 on the dry erase board. Meanwhile Claire doodled in her notebook.

"'Ask and it will be given to you'," Mr. Kendrick began as he read the verse. "'Seek and you will find. Knock and it will be open to you.'"

Claire finished the contour of a face and began to trace the eyes and nose.

"This verse is the beginning of a section of Jesus' sermon with a common theme," Mr. Kendrick said. "He talks about the narrow gate and the wide gate, the house on a rock and the house on sand, the good fruit and the bad fruit."

Claire added large pointed ears to the figure and began to draw the curly hair in swift curving strokes of her pencil.

"What is the common theme that we see here?"

Claire stared at her drawing of Prisca. Something wasn't right about the face. It was so close and yet not correct. Claire frowned in frustration.

"It's choice," the teacher finally said after a long silence from his students. "Each of these scenarios is impacted by choice. One is which way to go, the other is how to prepare for hardship, and the other is a product of how one lives their life. We are all on a journey, but there will come a time when we will have to choose a path. In this verse, Jesus is saying that the easiest isn't always the best. In verse 14 He says 'difficult is the way which leads to life.' We will all face hardship, but the easiest most comfortable way isn't always the best. And out of those choices we all produce fruit — the way we live our lives and impact people. Everyone can ultimately live the same exact life, but have different fruit. Why is that?"

Silence again. Mr. Kendrick sighed and pointed to Matthew 7:7.

"In this verse we see a story or rather three distinct parts of a story...like a trilogy."

At the word trilogy, Claire's ears perked up.

"You ask and God answers. Then you seek after that answer and then you find it. Yet the final chapter is the ultimate conclusion. You knock and the door is open. But to do all this, you must have a desire for truth... for God. A desire to know what is real. And desire comes from the heart. That is where the fruit in our lives comes from: the heart."

Claire shut her notebook. She was done drawing for this session. She looked up at the teacher as he closed out the class.

"Life is hard," he said. "But it's not the circumstances you face that define you. Jesus says that it is what you choose to do with them that shows who you really are. Let people know you by your fruit and not your circumstances."

As Claire walked out of Sunday School and to the sanctuary of the church, the last words of the teacher echoed in her mind. She had the sensation that a choice was what she needed to make, but what it was she didn't know. She wanted answers for this intangible conundrum, but how could she even find them if she didn't know the question to begin with? The longing for something that she missed but had never experienced gnawed at her and she wondered when and how this would all end.

* * *

On a cool September night later that year, Claire sat transfixed by a laptop. On the screen Keanu Reeves ran down a green lit-passage as he searched for the ringing telephone. As he entered a doorway, Agent Smith stood there, gun poised. He fired and Neo looked down to see that he was shot. Agent Smith fired again and again until Neo was backed up against the wall with multiple bullets in his chest.

Claire's screen-lit face widened in shock. "No! Neo can't die!" she said with a hand over her mouth. She leaned in close to see what would happen and then…

…the laptop went dead.

"Crap!"

Claire pushed the power button and the screen lit up momentarily. A simple message said "Battery low. Plug in charger."

Claire opened the door of her tent and peered out into the night air. Camping in the middle of the woods was fine and all, but the lack of electric power was now a dire inconvenience. The rest of her family was scattered around the camp in various tents. In the tent on the other side of the dying campfire was her cousin Fred. It was his laptop and his dvd copy of _The Matrix_ that she had been watching. Now she had to know how it ended and she prayed that he had an extra battery.

"Fred," she whispered as she stood by door of the tent. "Fred!"

Her cousin stirred and then muttered, "M- who is it?"

"It's Claire. Do you have another laptop battery?"

Fred groaned and said, "No. Just go to sleep and we can charge it when we get home."

"But it stopped in the middle of _The Matrix_," Claire moaned. "I need to know how it ends."

"It's 2 in the morning," Fred said. "Go back to sleep before you wake everyone up."

Claire huffed and stomped back to her tent. She didn't know how he expected her to sleep with that kind of cliffhanger. This of course was the first time she had ever seen _The Matrix_ and her mind was fully blown as well as intrigued. The concept of the world as we know it being more than it seems felt familiar. Neo's doubt was something she related to, but she didn't know why. As she lay in her sleeping bag, she replayed the story over in her head and hated that she had to wait till they got home to find out what would happen.

"That can't be how it ends," she thought to herself. "Neo can't just be killed so senselessly like that. He's the hero."

This new story was a welcome reprieve for Claire. Even though she was now a busy Junior in high school, she still felt the restlessness that she had brooded over last summer. She found that a good way to distract herself was to dive as deep into fandom as she could and now here was a new one.

As Claire finally drifted off to sleep, her head was filled with gun fights, long dark coats, and sunglasses. Swordplay had always been her favorite, but _The Matrix_ was making her think that maybe her characters could be given some more conventional weapons.

"That's silly," she thought as sleep finally overcame her. "The Realm Jumpers would never allow guns in Middle-earth."


	4. The Final Task

**The Final Task**

Claire was vaguely aware of the sound of water splashing around her. As she opened her eyes, she suddenly gasped in a breath. It felt like someone had suddenly plunged her face into cold water. She was more awake and alert than she had ever been. The young girl staggered forward as she tried to breathe. The last time it had taken a moment for her to remember, but now the jarring recollection was so intense and immediate that she thought she might pass out.

Yavanna was standing 20 paces away framed by tall trees and still pools of water. She was singing "Greensleeves" again, yet this time Claire could hear the words. The Vala was singing in elvish and Claire didn't understand what she was saying.

Claire took another step forward and nearly fell face first into the grass. Her legs felt like they were made of rubber. Looking down at herself she saw that she was wearing a simple grey dress and over that she wore a long brown coat that was lined with short dense fur. The coat reached nearly to the ground and it featured a hood that was also lined with fur. She wondered why her clothes were different than usual. More alarming to Claire was how weak she felt. She took another step and ended up on her hands and knees in the soft grass.

Claire was on the verge of panic when the Vala strode over to her and for the first time in all their interactions, Yavanna touched her. As the woman leaned down and laid her hand on the young girl's shoulder, Claire suddenly stood up. The weak sensation was gone.

"You have died," the Vala said softly. "You have been asleep."

Claire looked up at Yavanna with wide eyes. She remembered dying. She remembered everything now. The only question for her was the obvious one that burned in her mind.

"Why can't I remember things in my own world? Why do I only remember when I come back here?"

Yavanna didn't answer her question, but simply smiled. The Vala lifted a hand and placed it on Claire's cheek.

"The Venë Faeur is no more," she said and then added in elvish, "Nalye gorm methedyn."

Again, Claire didn't understand.

"Your time has at last come," Yavanna continued as she took a step back from Claire. "You must return to Middle-earth. Remember well these instructions: First, head east and do not turn back. Second, follow the brother until you see the sign of the hidden door. Third, do not enter by the gate. None shall recognize you until you have passed the test. Only then will you become whole. Tell no one who you are. Your past as the Venë Faeur must not be revealed. It is all a part Eru's plan."

So Claire was going to Middle-earth again. That was fine with her. More than anything Claire wanted to see Prisca. With her returning memory came an overwhelming sadness at having been parted from her best friend. Now the thought that she would be going back filled her with excitement. All the restlessness she had felt in her own world had completely gone. _This_ was what had tormented her so; the lack of memory was like a great weight on her mind that was now suddenly lifted. She knew that she couldn't go back to her own world and forget again. Claire would go mad if she did. She resolved that somehow, some way, she_ would _remember.

Yavanna's expression hardened as she said her next statement and the reality of it took a moment for Claire to fully comprehend.

"This will be your final journey to Middle-earth," the Vala said solemnly. "After this task is complete, you shall never return."

Claire's jaw dropped. "What?" she gasped. "W-why?"

Yavanna stepped closer to her and Claire felt the weight of the Vala's presence. She had just questioned one of the most powerful beings in Middle-earth and now she wondered if that was a mistake.

"Remember Claire...Nalye gorm methedyn."

"But what does that mean?" Claire pleaded. She wanted answers so badly now she felt she might cry.

Then Yavanna did something very odd. As she stood before Claire she began to sing "Greensleeves" again. As the Vala sang, Claire began to calm. There was something about that song that made her feel... alive. It was as if her brain was a hot coal and the song was like someone blowing on it to make it burn hotter.

When the Vala was again silent, she bowed to Claire.

"Farewell," Yavanna said, a sad smile spreading across her olive face. "We shall meet again a final time. And then you will understand."

Yavanna turned and began to walk away. The reality that this was the last journey to Middle-earth began to fill Claire's heart. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Please," she said. "Please just answer me one question…."

The Vala turned, her eyebrows raised attentively.

"Why have you sung Greensleeves every time we've met here," Claire asked.

Yavanna chuckled and then raised her chin gracefully.

"It is a gift," she said.

And like every other time Claire had seen her, Yavanna strode behind a tree and was gone.

Claire stood in silence for a long time. She was excited to return to Middle-earth, but the words of Yavanna pressed in upon her mind. What had the Vala meant by her cryptic instructions? She supposed she would find out. Yet more than anything, the stark reality that this would be the last time she would journey to Middle-earth was the hardest thing for Claire to accept.

Why did this have to be it? Why couldn't she go back? And above all, why didn't Yavanna answer any of her questions?

Claire was so frustrated, she stamped her foot in the grass. Then she noticed one glaring detail: she didn't have her sword. She spun around and found a pack sitting on the grass nearby. It wasn't her old pack, but a new one. This one didn't have a copy of _The Lord of the Rings_ like before, just some food, water, and flint and steel.

"So I have no answers and less stuff," she muttered. She stuck her arms through the straps of the pack and breathed deep. She supposed she should be thankful to be back at all. But the prospect of going back to her own world after this and forgetting everything all over again, filled her with dread. If only she could remember who she really was! That would relieve her restless mind for sure.

As Claire stood before the Middle-earth pool and thought about this, she suddenly heard a sound to her right. Looking up she saw a person coming up out of another pool. She gasped with delight when she recognized the dark haired female.

"Elrain!"

The seasoned Realm Jumper turned. Her hair was shorter than usual and her coat was brown instead of black. She looked older, much older, and Claire thought she saw strands of grey in the woman's shoulder length hair. Yet when Elrain saw Claire, her reaction was not joyful. She gaped at the young girl in shock.

"Cl-Claeo," she said in a whisper. "Oh, how time is off for me." She rubbed her head in frustration. Elrain seemed tired, almost weary. Claire walked over to her, but when she tried to hug her, the Realm Jumper backed away.

"No!" the dark haired woman said. "You mustn't touch me. I am already so far off from your timeline it might do more harm than good."

"I don't understand," Claire said. "What are you talking about?"

Elrain studied Claire. She leaned in closer and Claire began to wonder if there was something on her face.

"This is your final time isn't it? You are about to enter Middle-earth for the last time."

Claire was surprised. "Um...yeah. That's what Yavanna told me. Wh- I'm confused. Do we meet in the future? Is that why I can't touch you?"

"No," Elrain said flatly. "You and I do not meet." The veteran Realm Jumper was silent for a moment until at last she looked thoughtfully at Claire and said, "It's good to see you again. May Eru guide you in all your ways, my friend."

Elrain backed away from Claire and began to walk to another pool.

"Wait!" Claire called. "I don't understand. Is this the last time we meet? Will we - ?"

"Adventures never end Claeo," Elrain said as she turned back to Claire and smiled. The dark haired woman paused and then said, "Will you do me a favor?"

"Anything," Claire said.

She thought she saw tears welling in Elrain's eyes as the woman said, "Tell the halfling it wasn't his fault. And tell him that I forgive him."

Claire's brows narrowed in confusion. Was she talking about Peregrin? Yet before she could ask, Elrain slipped on her ring and disappeared beneath the rippling waters of a pool. Now Claire was again alone.

There were too many questions that needed answering. As Claire stepped into the Middle-earth pool, she prayed that they wouldn't go unanswered for too long.

Then Claire slipped on her Realm Jumping ring for the last time and slipped into the waters of Middle-earth.

* * *

Plunging down into the darkness, Claire thought about how incredible it was that there really _were_ other worlds. If she could just remember that fact alone in her own world, it would change her outlook completely. It was...well it was a lot like the Matrix in a way. Once you are aware that the world is not what it seems, you can never go back to the old way of thinking. If only she had some kind of proof.

As the lights of planets and constellations whizzed past her, Claire vowed that she would find proof. If it took 5 or 50 years, she would never stop searching until she found something to confirm that she wasn't crazy. Surely that would relieve her restlessness a bit.

Solid ground formed beneath Claire's feet as the world became clear around her. It was dusk and she was standing on a forest path. The sunset was at her back. As she turned to face the west, she recognized the valley of Rivendell through the trees. She could make it there before nightfall if she hurried. Yet the words "Head east and to not turn back" echoed in her mind. Claire felt a chill as she came to accept that she would never enter Rivendell again. What she could see of the Last Homely House looked cold and lifeless. She imagined that very few people lived there now. The elves were slowly, but surely, leaving Middle-earth, never to return.

She turned to face the east. Before her was a the ever darkening forest path. Yet that didn't phase Claire. Walking into the advancing dusk, she shut her eyes and willed them to use _the sight_. The darkness wasn't frightening when you were a Realm Jumper.

When she opened her eyes, she stopped. Something was wrong. The forest was just as dark as before. She blinked and concentrated hard. Nothing._ The Sight_ wasn't working. Claire's pulse began to quicken. She lifted her hand in front of her and tried to ignite it. Again nothing happened. What was going on? Where were her Realm Jumping powers? She tried again and again, but to no avail. With each moment that passed, it became darker and darker. Soon there would be no light at all. She would be alone in the woods at night without a sword or any way to defend herself. Panic began to tighten in her chest.

"Eru!" she said out loud. "Are you there?"

_I am always here with you._

Claire breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh good. What's going on? Why don't I have my abilities?"

_You are not whole. But do not fear. It's all a part of My plan._

"What does that mean?"

The words of Yavanna came to mind. Something about passing a test and then becoming whole. Did she have to complete some sort of task to get her powers back? As if this mission wasn't already frustrating. Now she was a powerless, swordless, Realm Jumper with no idea where she was supposed to go or even what she was supposed to do.

"Go east," she muttered to herself. "Yavanna said to go east and to not turn back."

She gazed into the dark wood before her. The blue tones of twilight were fading into black. She shuddered, but reminded herself that Eru was in control. Somehow this would all work out in the end wouldn't it? As she began to walk down the path and her eyes adjusted to the dark, she repeated that to herself over and over.

"It's ok," she whispered as she walked deeper into the forest. "It's gonna be ok. God's gonna work it all out. Maybe this is like in _The Silver Chair_? Maybe Yavanna's cryptic instructions are clues or signs or something? I'm going east so I've got that covered."

She walked on for another hour. This forest road was familiar to her. She had gone down it twice in past adventures. As she rounded a turn in the road, she looked up to see a starlit sky. She thought of Prisca and she wondered what the hobbit was up to these days? Then Claire began to wonder what year it was. Where her friends still alive? How had the world changed since she had died in Minas Tirith?

As she walked, Claire nervously braided her now considerably long hair. It was odd to her that each time she came to Middle-earth, her hair was longer, yet in her own realm it was still above her shoulders. She couldn't stand getting it in her face and a braid seemed the most practical thing she could do at this point.

Claire stopped short when she heard a twig snap to her left. She froze. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she tried to figure out what she should do. If she ran, that might give away her position. But if she just stood there, it left her open to attack.

She didn't have much time to think about it. Suddenly two strong arms clamped around her chest and her arms were pinned to her sides. She gave a yell of alarm as she began to kick her legs wildly. Nothing seemed to phase her attacker. Whoever he was, he was incredibly strong. He seemed to be waiting for her to calm down. It was like being in the grip of a statue and Claire soon stopped struggling. She would need to save her energy for whatever was coming next.

Out of the darkness in front of her another individual spoke.

"Have you got him?" The voice sounded like it belonged to a young man.

"Yes," came a deep voice from above Claire's head. "But I do not think it is a male. I believe it's a female."

Flint and steel struck sparks 10 feet in front of Claire. The sparks caught on the end of a makeshift torch and its bearer held it up. As he stepped closer to examine her, Claire saw that it was indeed a young man. He had dark black hair that fell around his ears and over his forehead. He looked to be in his late teens, with broad shoulders and a somewhat clean shaven face. He was also very familiar, yet Claire couldn't put her finger on it. Something about his eyes and the confused expression he had. Where had she seen this man before? Yavanna had said that no one would recognize her until she passed the "test".Even if she had met this man on previous journeys, he wouldn't recognize her. That might make placing him difficult.

"It _is_ a female," he huffed. "Just a girl actually. Who are you?"

Under the scrutiny of his gaze, Claire blurted out the only name she hadn't used in Middle-earth, only to remember that she was breaking one of the first rules Elrain had ever taught her.

"Claire. Cla - aww crap," she said realizing her mistake.

The young man tilted his head to the side. "What?"

Consenting that she couldn't take it back, she said, "Claire. My name is Claire." Entirely frustrated, she added, "Who the heck are you?"

The young man raised his chin in a rather haughty manner. "That's none of your business. Do you think I just give out my name to every stranger on the road?"

"You told me your name when we met," the person holding Claire said.

The young man looked up at him annoyed. "That was different," he said through his teeth.

"How was it different? We were strangers."

"Yes," the young man retorted. "But I figured I could trust you. Her on the other hand...she could be a spy or something like that."

"Um, if I may," Claire said, interrupting their conversation. "I can assure you that I am not a spy. And you both sound like decent fellows, so would you mind letting me go? I'm unarmed."

The young man grumbled for a moment and then conceded with a wave of his hand. "Fine. Let her go."

The person holding Claire released her. As she quickly stepped away from him, she turned to look at the deep voiced individual who had detained her. Claire nearly fell over when she saw him.

Before her, looking down from a long graceful reptilian neck, was the long visage of a vanaloke with striking blue eyes. But this one was a male and had long dark stripes across his snout. Claire was so shocked that she backed into the young man with the dark hair. He gripped her by the shoulders to steady her.

"It's alright," he said into her ear. His tone was somewhat patronizing, like how one would speak to a child who is afraid of the dentist or something similarly ridiculous. "He won't hurt you. I know he looks very intimidating, but he's a friend."

The vanaloke bowed. He wore clothes very similar to what Laemellon had worn, but styled for a more masculine figure. His arms were bare and Claire saw more of the dark stripes across his skin. This apparently was a male feature in the species.

"I am Turion of the house of Arramar," the vanaloke said. "I am in these lands searching for my sister, Laemellon, heir to the house of Arramar. It is a pleasure to meet you Claire. I am sorry if we frightened you."

Turion looked over Claire's shoulder at the young man and said, "Don't you think it would be polite to tell her your name as well?"

The young man huffed and stepped to the side. As he faced Claire he bowed as well, though not as gracefully as the vanaloke had done.

"My name is Bergil," he said. "Bergil, Son of Beregond."


	5. The Brother

**The Brother**

Claire sat cross-legged on the forest floor. It was evening and across from her, on the other side of their quickly made campfire, sat Bergil. That judgmental smirk that she remembered all too well was spread across his face. He was looking at her like someone looks at a brain teaser in the Sunday paper. How old was he now? The last time she had been in Middle-earth it had been 3024, 5 years after the War of the Ring. He had been ten during the Siege so now he had to be in his late teens.

She was still trying to process things. Of all the people she could meet in the woods, these two were the absolute last she would ever have expected. Why had Laemellon never mentioned that she had a brother? And how did he come across the sea if she was the only vanaloke who as allowed to leave the island? Claire supposed that he was _the_ brother she was supposed to follow, but where exactly was he going?

"Have we met before?"

Bergil's question jerked Claire out of deep thought. She jumped a bit as his voice broke the silence. He was still scrutinizing her and she dared to look him in the eye as she said, "Um, I'm not sure. Do you recognize me?"

"No," he said. "But there's something about you that is familiar. Where did you say you were from again?"

"The south," Claire said slowly.

"I'm from the south," Bergil said. "So you are from Gondor then?"

Claire nodded and said, "I'm from Minas Tirith." It was the best lie that she could pull off at the moment.

Bergil sat up straighter. "I lived in Minas Tirith a few years ago, but I don't recall seeing you."

"It's a big city," Claire said as she managed an innocent shrug.

Turion stepped out of the woods carrying several sticks in his arms. As he set them down beside the fire, he said, "This was all I could find. It should be enough for tonight at least."

The vanaloke sat down next to the fire and stretched his wings. It was odd, but Claire could see the family resemblance in his face. Or maybe all vanaloki looked like that. Claire wasn't sure.

"Well Ms. Claire," Turion said casually as he added a few sticks to the fire. "What brings you to these woods so late at night?"

Across from her, Claire saw Bergil lean in with a clever look on his face. He seemed very eager to hear her story too.

"I am heading east," she said. "Where are you guys going?"

Bergil frowned at her vagueness.

Turion replied, "I am going to Minas Tirith. Bergil says that my sister Laemellon was last seen there. I come from an island far across the sea where my people, the Vanaloki, have dwelt for several ages. My sister was sent to this land 7 years ago and has never returned. None of my people, save her, have been allowed to leave the island, but a few months ago, one of our prophets spoke over me. He said that it was the will of Eru and my destiny to seek after her and that the heir of my people must return. So I flew across the sea and when I landed on the shore near a place they call 'The Grey Havens', I found Bergil."

"What were you doing at the shore of the sea," Claire asked the young man across from her.

Bergil gave her a dark look. "That's none of your business."

Turion sighed and turned back to Claire. "That's the same thing he said to me. It seems his name and where he was from were the only details he wanted to offer."

"I just don't like telling my business to strangers that's all," Bergil retorted. "Just because you are so keen on telling everyone you meet everything about you, doesn't mean it is normal. I - I had my reasons for being there. That's all I'll say now."

Bergil grabbed a stick from the pile and poked at the fire absentmindedly, his eyes downcast.

Turion continued. "As I said, Bergil informed me that my sister was last seen in Minas Tirith and seeing that he was on his way there as well, we decided to travel together. Before we met you we had just left a place called 'Rivendell'. It was a nice place, but there were not many people living there."

"It used to be nicer," Bergil said solemnly. "I've heard stories about it since I was very young." Bergil sighed and looked up at Claire. "The elves are leaving Middle-earth for good. King Aragorn says that the Age of Men is upon us."

"You don't seem too excited about it," Claire commented.

Bergil frowned. "I can be as excited as I want," he said sharply. Apparently with age, so also had come a chip on his shoulder. If Claire was honest with herself, she couldn't take him very seriously. From her perspective, it had only been two years since she had found herself amongst the wounded and Bergil was making immature remarks common to one so young. At the time she had thought it was cute in a kind of pitiful way. Now, his attitude seemed to show that he had transitioned from an immature 10-year-old to immature angsty teenager.

"So you are headed east," Turion asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah," Claire said. "East...and then south. I'm going to Minas Tirith too."

A broad smile spread across Turion's horse-like mouth. "Well that's splendid!" he said. "We can all travel together."

Bergil sat up straight and said, "Wha- You can't just invite her along! We don't even know who she is."

"She's traveling alone," Turion said, giving Bergil a stern look. "It would be rude not to offer her help on the road."

Bergil threw his stick in the fire and said, "Fine. I'm going to bed." He got up, grabbed a blanket from his pack and laid down on the other side of a tree just beyond the firelight.

"I apologize for his behavior," Turion said. "I still don't know all of his story."

"No need to apologize for him," Claire huffed. "He's always…"

Claire stopped as she realized her mistake. Turion gazed at her curiously.

"Do all males of your kind act that way at this age? Or have you met him before?"

Claire avoided eye contact with the vanaloke for a moment. Keeping her identity a secret might be more difficult than she thought. She would need to tone down_ her _attitude if she didn't want to blow her cover.

"They all act like that," she said.

Turion leaned in towards her and said softly, "Ms. Claire, you should know that my people have a gift which gives them the ability to tell if someone is lying just by touching them." He put his hands up in front of him, palms out. "I would never touch you without your permission. I want you to know that I trust you to tell me the truth. However, I would ask you to honor that trust."

Claire nodded. Turion was the polar opposite of his sister. Where she was rash and aggressive, he was thoughtful and gentlemanly. Being next to Turion made Claire feel safe and for a moment she remembered how Eru had said this was all in His plan. Who better to send to help her on her journey?

She wanted to be honest with Turion. She wanted to tell him that she knew his sister. She knew that she had already done too much by telling them her real name. Claire didn't need to make things worse. Yet she also knew that lying to Turion would be a very bad idea considering that he could just grab her wrist and find out she was dishonest. She needed to be upfront with him without revealing who she was.

"Thank you Turion," she said. "I will do my best to be honest with you. But I must tell you that I am on a bit of a secret mission. I can't say what it is for...I don't really know all the details myself to be honest. But I think that Eru has sent you to me. Though I hate to admit it, I probably need traveling companions. I appreciate your offer to let me travel with you."

Turion smiled. "Of course," he said. "And I understand. Though I must say, that there is something about you that feels familiar...something about you that makes me feel that you can be trusted. I too am following the guidance of Eru. I am glad that He has led our paths together."

Turion glanced back at where Bergil was snoring away. "As for him, I know he has been lying to me. I don't need to touch him to know that. My people also have the gift of communication of the mind. It makes us more intuitive to the emotions of others." Turion paused for a moment and then said softly, "I sense grief in him, yet what it is for, I cannot say."

The vanaloke and the human girl turned in for the night. Turion had an extra blanket from Rivendell that he lent to Claire. As she settled into the leafy forest floor, Claire wondered what kind of grief could have befallen Bergil. Perhaps it had something to do with why he was all the way out here, hundreds of miles from home. Something didn't add up.

It felt good to have some questions answered. She was following Laemellon's brother to Minas Tirith. Though she longed to go back to the capital of Gondor and see her friends, she thought it strange that she was going there for the third time. Every one of her adventures in Middle-earth had involved going to that city. There were so many wonderful places to visit in this world; why did she always have to go back to Minas Tirith? Last time she had arrived there, it was under attack. What kind of strange things were going on there that needed her help now?

As Claire drifted off to sleep she lamented that though many of her questions had been answered, there was still so much that she didn't know.


	6. Letter 2

**Letter #2**

Dearest Brother,

The arrival of your letter filled my heart with joy this afternoon. I am glad to hear of your progress in Eregion, yet I am troubled to hear of your dreams of late. You were always the perceptive one in our family. Perhaps these visions will have some meaning in the future? Take comfort dear brother. Such things are not always as bad as they seem.

Concerning myself, I have much to tell you. In my studies of the crafting of gems, I came across an account which many thought forgotten. Not many records exist from before the war, but buried amongst the ancient writings we have collected here I found one that may be of particular interest to us both. It was an account passed down by Fëanor which tells of a gem that some say was forged by the hand of Eru Himself. I realize that this sounds incredulous, but hear me out. The records states that this gem contained all knowledge and that the bearer would know the answer to any question they asked of it. Can you imagine? If such a gem exists, what would stop us from preventing darkness from overtaking the land again? It has thoroughly preoccupied my thoughts for the past few months. And just yesterday, after much research and inquiry, I have been told that further north in a settlement on the edge of the frozen waste, there is someone who knows where the gem may be located.

I have spoken to Melda and she and I are planning to journey there as soon as it becomes warmer again. If I find this gem, the possibilities will be unlimited. I shall write again when I know more.

Yours,

G


	7. The Western Watch

**The Western Watch**

Faron son of Feiradan had always looked forward to returning to Minas Tirith. Since the war ended 7 years ago, he had traveled abroad and helped to keep an eye on the western reaches of Gondor. Specifically he had been assigned to watch over the village of Bree, a common stopping place for travelers on the western road. It was a rather boring assignment. He had fought in a war, but since then he spent his time stopping fights between drunks and helping the innkeeper remember where he put the key to the stables. Many times in the past 7 years Faron had found himself longing to return to the capital city of Gondor. Anything would be more exciting than Bree.

Yet now as he walked the streets of Minas Tirith, the Dunadan ranger found himself less enthralled and more anxious. Being in the service of King Aragorn, his friend and former ranger was an honor to be sure, but he wished it was under better circumstances.

This was his 6th month as captain of the Western Watch. This newly formed outpost was set deep in a narrow mountain pass that wound around Mount Mindolluin and up into the mountains that began to form the range that stretched westward. It was now late November and the air was cold and wet with a dense fog that made it hard to see more than a few yards. Faron passed the secondary gate, a backup defense incase the Western Watch was overrun, and then at last approached the high stone wall that had been built across the mountain pass. It looked like a huge dam, but this barricade was meant to hold back something far more dangerous than water. As he ascended the steps, he heard voices speaking just out of sight.

"Well I heard that he's a ranger from out of the west and a friend of the King," said the first voice.

"Are you sure?" asked another. "I thought all the rangers disbanded after the war."

Faron reached the top of the wall and began to walk forward. Sitting at their posts were two soldiers. They sat casually with their spears leaning against the wall.

"You are incorrect," Faron said. The two men jumped up and stood at attention.

Faron eyed the two men. They were both clad in standard Gondorian armor that fit them decently. However from their stances and expressions, it was obvious they were new to their posts.

"I take it you are the two new assignments to the Watch," the former ranger asked.

"Yes Sir," they both said. They looked a bit nervous and Faron smiled at their awkward stiffness.

"As you were," he said and the two men relaxed a bit. "What are your names?"

"My name is Coran," the first man said. He was the taller of the two and looked to be in his early forties.

"I'm Jareth," the second fellow said. He was younger than Coran and he looked around nervously. Apparently this was one of his first assignments in the city.

"Good to meet you both," Faron said stepping past them and looking over the wall and down into the mountain pass. There wasn't much to see in all this fog.

Turning back to them, Faron asked, "So, tell me what you fellows know about the Western Watch. I hate repeating things unnecessarily and time is short."

"Well Sir," Jareth said after a bit of hesitation. "This is where the Breach came from; the attack from those creatures almost two years ago. After the Breach the King found this mountain pass and had this wall and the secondary gate built."

"That is correct," Faron said with a nod. He turned to Coran and asked, "Coran, can you tell me when the last time an attempt was made on the Watch?"

"Yes Sir," Coran said. "It was two months ago. They tried to climb the wall, but they were stopped by the Reserve."

Faron nodded again. "That is correct. I'm glad to see that you gentleman did your research before taking this post." The ranger strode over to a shelf set into the railing. He reached in and pulled out a silver horn. He held it up for the two men to see.

"One of you," he said. "Should keep this close at hand. If an attempt on the wall is made, blow this and the Reserve will come."

"Begging your pardon, Sir," Jareth said. "But what exactly _is_ the Reserve? There are rumors in the city, but they are pretty ridiculous if you ask me."

Faron gave him a narrow look. "That doesn't concern you soldier. All you need to know is that the alert must be raised. Do you both understand that?"

The two men nodded. Faron handed the horn to Jareth and then pointed at Coran.

"You will be the primary watcher for this section of wall. I suggest you begin your patrol."

Coran nodded and straightened his spear. He turned and walked in a northern direction along the wall's edge. He disappeared into the fog and then a few minutes later appeared again. He did this over and over along with the other pacing guards that held a position along the length of the Western Watch.

As Coran disappeared into the gloom once more, Jareth turned to Faron.

"Permission to speak freely Sir?"

"Granted," Faron said.

"Is it true what they say Sir? About...about them? How they will slit their own throats before they can be taken alive?"

The ranger nodded solemnly. "It is true. There are many in the Citadel who would do anything to get their hands on a live specimen. If nothing more than to find out where they come from and why they consistently attempt to pass the Watch."

Faron placed a hand on Jareth's shoulder. He could tell that the young man was nervous. "Keep your head about you and you will do fine. Yet do not hesitate to kill anything that tries to come over this wall. The last attack was not as bad as it could have been."

Jareth nodded and smiled slightly. The two men looked off into the fog for a moment. Faron was about to leave and check on the other guards when he noticed something. Jareth noticed it too. For a moment they both stood very still listening to the silence. Nothing moved. All was calm.

But that was the problem. Coran should have come out of the fog by now.

"Coran?" Faron called. No answer. Jareth and the ranger began to walk forward into the fog. As Faron walked in front of him, Jareth gripped the silver horn nervously.

"Where has he gone?" the younger man asked.

Faron put a hand up to silence him. "Do you hear that?" he whispered. Ahead of them they could hear soft whimpering, like someone in pain but too weak to cry out. Faron slowly drew out his bow and set an arrow to it.

Then they saw it. Coran was kneeling on the pavement, his hands limp at his sides and his helmet off. Behind him was a dark and crooked serpentine shape. Its long horned head was tilted upwards as if it was listening for something. Its right hand gripped Coran's bare head. Jareth gasped when he realized that the creatures claws were sunk into the poor man's scalp.

Faron's arrow was swift. It struck the beast square between the eyes and Coran screamed as the sharp nails were drawn out of his head.

"Morloke!" Faron cried. The ranger swung around and looked over the edge of the wall. Out of the mist, crooked sharp shapes were climbing the stone. They were attacking again.

"Raise the alarm," he commanded. Jareth put the silver horn to his lips and gave three long blasts. He paused and repeated the alarm twice more. The other watchers along the wall gave a similar signal. Faron prayed that the Reserve was not too busy to lend their aid.

Coran was leaning against the wall and breathing hard. He began looking around and then flailed his arms frantically. "Help me! Help me! I can't see!" he cried.

Faron knelt down and grabbed the man's shoulders. "Its alright. Your eyesight will return in time."

"My head," Coran sobbed as he touched the bit of blood in his hair. "It was in my head... it said things. Horrible things."

Faron wanted to comfort the man more, but there was no time for that now. The other Morloki were nearly at the top of the wall. When the first creature reached the top, Jareth dropped the silver horn and drew his sword. Faron drew his sword as well and swung at the creature. The morloke caught his blade in its claws. Throwing him off balance, it leapt past Faron and tried to get to the other side of the wall. Jareth stepped forward. The young man's blade came down and the creatures head flew from its body. Its headless shape thudded on the stones beneath their feet. Coran had regained some of his sight now and he recoiled at the hideous thing that flopped next to him.

More were coming. Along the wall, the cries of men and the screeches of the morloki could be heard. Soon Faron, Jareth, and Coran were all fighting, swords drawn and black with morloki blood.

In the midst of the scuffle, Jareth's sword was wrenched out of his hands. Faron watched helplessly as the man went down, a morloke on top of him and ready to sink its teeth into his neck.

Then suddenly the Morloke was pulled off of the man and flung over the wall and into the oncoming horde. Several morloki fell as the body came crashing down on them. A streak of green flashed over head followed by a blast of fire that rained down upon the oncoming creatures.

Jareth sat up and then gasped. He was looking past Faron at something and the ranger turned to see what it was. Just north of them, hanging in mid-air with hands outstretched and eyes glowing, was a young hobbit girl.

The Reserve had arrived.

* * *

As Prisca looked down on the scene before her, she could tell that this was going to be far worse than the previous attack. The attempts on the Western Watch had become more frequent in the past year, and each time both she and Laemellon had been able to send them crawling back. Now, through _the sight,_ Prisca could see past the fog and down into the mountain pass. The stones below were crawling with scratching slithering morloki. The men on the wall would soon be overrun.

Laemellon was flying back and forth, fire pouring from her jaws down upon the creatures. The other side of the wall was nearly solid black with the beasts. With each pass the grey stones of the wall peeked through only to be covered over by the advancing enemy. Prisca knew that eventually Laemellon would have to stop. Below her, the hobbit girl spied Faron. He and the other soldiers were holding their own for now, but it wouldn't last long.

The hobbit girl descended. She landed on the wall amidst the attacking morloki. With her hands outstretched and her eyes ablaze, they cowered back only to be thrown off their feet at the motion of her hands. A few more came over the wall near where she stood. They tried to attack the short hobbit female, but regretted it immediately. Prisca carried no weapon. One didn't need such things when your enemy's neck snapped at the flick of your wrist. Soon she was standing before Faron. Next to him a young soldier looked down at her in wonder.

"You must fall back!" she yelled above the sound of the battle. "There are far too many coming up the wall. We must fall back to the secondary gate."

Faron nodded and called out to the other soldiers, "Fall back!" His voice echoed amongst the stones as he yelled "Fall back to the Secondary Gate!"

Prisca was airborne again. She spun in mid air to see Laemellon give one last blast of fire as the soldiers began to retreat. Even as they left the wall, morloki began to pour over the edge like black tar. They were a scratching hissing mass that moved at an incredible and terrifying speed.

"Reform the defensive line!" Faron called. As soon as the men reached the foot of the secondary gate they turned to face the coming enemy. Spears were brought to the front and pointed outwards. Shields were set in place. Swords were drawn and ready. And in the very front, stood Prisca and Laemellon. The hobbit girl with her hands outstretched and the vanaloke with her claws at the ready.

"Stand your ground!" Faron yelled. Prisca gazed at the wave of dark shapes that advanced. She said a silent prayer to Eru. There was no way out of this.

Then suddenly the morloki stopped. Mere feet from where the line of soldiers stood, the dark creatures reeled back, their claws outstretched as if they were suddenly blinded by a bright light. Prisca blinked to make sure she wasn't seeing things. They looked...scared.

There was a moment of bizarre silence as the terrible din of battle faded. The murmurs of confused soldiers began to rise as the morloki continued to hang back. They hissed and spat, but came no closer.

"What's happened," Laemellon asked at Prisca's side. "What's wrong with them?"

Prisca took a cautious step forward. Soon she was no more than three feet from one of the beasts. It glared at her with its blood red eyes, but it did not advance.

"I don't know," the hobbit girl said. "They seem scared. But what are the morloki scared of?"

"I can answer that."

The answering voice came from behind the line of soldiers. Slowly the men of Gondor parted and out from among them strode a tall figure. He looked to be an elf; his long features and pointed ears gave that away. He was dressed in very unconventional clothes for an elf. His hair was long and black and worn in the common elf fashion, but there was something odd and out of place about him.

As he stepped into view and his eyes met Prisca's, the hobbit girl felt a chill go down her spine. She was in the presence of someone who was steeped in magic; she could practically smell it on him. And equally mysterious was what the elf held in his hand. At the level of his eyes, he bore a strange round object. It looked like a golden disc with a jewel set into the center of it. The jewel glowed with a pale violet light that pulsed rhythmically with each step that he took.

Faron, Prisca, Laemellon, and the soldiers of the Western Watch looked on in wonder as the elf approached the line of morloki. He stopped and held the golden object high.

"Be gone!" he shouted.

The horde of morloki turned and began scurrying back over the wall. As the last black serpentine tail disappeared over the manmade stone, Prisca was beside herself. The elf turned back to the gaping crowed. He smiled and put the golden object in his coat pocket.

"Who are you," the hobbit asked.

The elf raised his chin thoughtfully.

"Who am I?" he said with an illustrious tone. "I am the solution you have all be looking for."


	8. The Solution

**The Solution**

Peregrin Took sat despondently in the Steward's Chair. Around him in several other chairs sat the various dignitaries and Lords of the city. They had been arguing in the King's throne room for the last hour and the poor hobbit wished that he could be anywhere in Middle-earth but here.

"And yet something must be done," the Lord Aldred said, pounding his fist on the arm of his chair. He was an older gentleman with a scraggly white beard and a disposition to match. "These attacks must come to an end. People are beginning to consider leaving the city. What will happen to our economy?"

"I concur," the Lord Magnus said. "The Western Watch was a noble pursuit, but I think we can all agree that it is not enough. We must push further back into the mountains. Or better yet find the source of the foul creatures."

"That won't work," the Warden of the fifth level interjected. "We've already used too many resources for both gates. To build another would require us to have stone shipped in from Lebennin. And with the possibility of economic problems, that is the last thing we want."

And so it went. Back and forth, point and counterpoint. Peregrin had his face completely in his right hand as if he could somehow hide from all of them and the problems they faced.

Though the Morloki had been an issue since Morlyg's attack and Claeo's death, the state of the city had settled a year after the founding of the Western Watch. The hoardes of Morloki became more manageable. Then urgent need had arisen in the South as the Haraddrim began to venture too far into Gondorian territory. King Aragorn and a host of soldiers left to deal with the trespass, leaving Peregrin in charge. At first Peregrin was honored to be chosen to manage things in the King's stead, but no sooner had the King left and journeyed too far to come back on a whim, the attacks from the Morloki had increased. The meeting the aging hobbit sat in now was one in a long line of meetings that only made Peregrin pray more that the King would return as soon as possible.

"What do you say Lord Peregrin," Aldred asked. "You are after all interim Lord and Steward in the absence of the King."

Peregrin took his face out of his hand and sighed deeply. "Speak not to me of the problem we face Aldred," he said. "I have not ceased to hear about it since this all began two years ago."

"But surely we cannot go on like this," Aldred retorted. "With all due respect, your cousin and her companion are quite effective in holding back each attack, but for how long? Why, they are out there right now! Who knows how many times we will have to do this before they are spent."

"I am well aware," the hobbit moaned. Peregrin shut his eyes and began to rub the bridge of his nose. From behind his eyelids, he could see where Prisca was. Her bright shape was walking up a stony path. He sat up straighter when he realized that she was actually making her way to the citadel and not fighting at the Western Watch. Was the attack over that quickly?

"All I'm saying," Aldred continued. "Is that if a solution is not found, we may need to implement more drastic measures for the safety of the people. Perhaps we should evacuate the fifth level?"

The Warden of the Fifth level was about to object when the doors of the throne room flew open. Every head turned to see Prisca and Laemellon stride forward followed by Faron and a host of men. Peregrin and the dignitaries of the counsel rose from their chairs. As the hobbit girl and Laemellon stood before them, they gave a Gondorian solute and nodded in acknowledgement of the men who stood there. Prisca and Laemellon both wore tunics of black and silver over their clothes; livery required for those in service to the city of Minas Tirith.

"Welcome back," Peregrin said. "That was short. Didn't they just call you?"

"They did," Prisca replied, a hint of apprehension in her voice. "However there was an interesting development."

The counsel of dignitaries began to murmur as Faron escorted the tall elf to the front of the group. The strange visitor bowed eloquently.

"Gracious Lords and most noble Steward," the elf said. "Thank you for allowing me to address you. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Varin Gamarion." The elf turned and motioned for another to come forward next to him. From out of the crowd strode a narrowly built young man with a mop of brown hair. He stood next to Varin sheepishly.

"And this is my assistant Alric. Together we have traveled from the far northern reaches of the Forodwaith and surrounding lands. I am a learned individual who has come to offer my services to you."

Peregrin arched an eyebrow. "What services would you have to offer Mr. Gamarion?"

"That is an apt question my Lord and please, call me Varin. Under the present circumstances formality is not needed. You see, several years ago I was with a company of elves traveling from Lothlorien to Rivendel. Our company was attacked by what you call the morloki. A colleague of mine was injured by one of these beasts and the effect upon him was terribly bizarre. He recovered, but I was wholly fascinated. Since then I have dedicated what time is left to me in Middle-earth to the study of the morloki. I have traveled much and have had several close encounters with the beasts. I believe that I may be able to help you in your eradication of them from your borders."

There were murmurs and gasps of wonder amidst the counsel members. At last Peregrin said, "Thank you for your offer. But with all due respect, we have also been studying the creatures for some time. What do you have to offer that we have not already discovered?"

Varin smiled and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a golden disc-like object and held it aloft. All stared in wonder as the elf said, "This is the Talisman of the southern wastes. I created it from materials I acquired on a journey near Harad. In its center is a corrupted calling stone. The vanaloki use them for good, but the morloki brought many over with them in the ancient days and over time they have been corrupted." Then he added with a thoughtful smirk, "I have a history in the crafting and sourcing of gems."

Peregrin glanced at Laemellon. The vanaloke was in awe at the elf's words, but he also detected a hint of confusion in her long reptilian face.

"With this talisman," Varin said. "I can command the morloki to do my bidding. Though I should add that it only works within a certain distance. That is why you will be needing my help. I held the morloki horde back today, but as long as I am away from the mountain pass, they may strike again."

"Is this true?" the Warden of the Fifth level interjected.

"It is," Faron said as he stepped forward. "I saw it with my own eyes. They fell back before him as he held up that talisman."

Peregrin stepped forward. He had been skeptical at first, but the longer he thought about it, the more he began to become excited. At last! Here was a solution that, at the very least, would shut up all these dignitaries and their problems. Varin couldn't have come at a more perfect time and he was just what they needed. For the first time in almost two years, Peregrin Took felt like they might actually be able to end all this chaos.

"What would you ask of us in return," the hobbit asked as he stood before the elf. "If you help us to be rid of the morloki, what do you expect as payment?"

Varin smiled. "Nothing my Lord, accept to study the creatures up close. They are extraordinary beasts and there is no greater concentration of them in all of Middle-earth than here in Minas Tirith."

Peregrin nodded. "Very well. As Steward of the city, I accept your offer on the condition that you report all your findings accordingly."

The elf put out his hand and Peregrin shook it. "Agreed," the elf said. "All I require is a workshop along with lodging and then Alric and I can get started."

* * *

Several other formalities and exchanges later, Peregrin was finally able to sneak out of the throne room. Standing in an outside hallway, he took a deep breath and drank in the silence. After a few moments, he turned and began to walk down the long window lit passage. The white light of the overcast sky made the marble feel colder than normal and the hobbit shivered.

Then he stopped. Without turning around he said in a deep tone, "You know you can't sneak up on me."

Prisca Baggins stopped a few paces behind him. When he turned to face her, she chuckled, "I keep forgetting you always know where I am."

"At least when it suits me," he said. Her expression shifted and he sensed that something was bothering her. "What is it Prisca?"

The hobbit girl looked down at her feet, something she did when she was hesitant to speak her mind. "It's just that...well...It was rather presumptuous of you to trust Varin so quickly wasn't it?"

Peregrin's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he only just arrived and now you are giving him access to the Citadel. How can we be sure he is who he says he is?"

"I would think you would be satisfied of that," Peregrin said. "You were there when he held back those morloki with that talisman. Is that not proof enough? He obviously has knowledge and experience with the morloki that we do not have. And he has been studying them longer."

"Yes but…" Prisca crossed her arms uncomfortably. "There is a darkness about him. I can't explain it. I - I just wonder if he is who the Owl was talking about. "

The elder hobbit's eyebrows raised in bemusement. "You think he's that Abberator fellow," Peregrin said, nearly laughing. "Prisca, we can't know what the Owl meant by that. I dare say we can hardly trust the Owl at all. We don't even know who she was."

"But what if it is him?" Prisca said leaning in closer to her cousin. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she said, "The Owl said in two years he would be in the city and that was in February two years ago. This coming February is only three months away. And don't you think it's suspiciously convenient that he would come now?"

Peregrin frowned. He was clearly annoyed by Prisca's paranoia, but she continued.

"We have dealt with the morloki for nearly two years. All the surrounding lands have heard of our problem. Yet now when we are at our worst and you are at your wit's end, this elf shows up out of the blue to be the magic solution. Doesn't that strike you as a bit suspicious?"

"I'll admit it's odd," Peregrin said. "But what choice do I have? While you and Laemellon have been flying around out there, I have been dealing with mind numbing politics. So yes, I agreed very quickly to this because I want it to be over. Don't you want the same thing Prisca? Don't you want to go home?"

The hobbit girl opened her mouth but didn't say anything. After the events of two years ago, she had of course written to her adoptive parents to tell them she was alright and to apologize for running away. However with the situation in Minas Tirith, it had become quickly apparent that she and Laemellon were needed. Neither she nor Peregrin could return to the Shire until the morloki problem was resolved.

"I do miss home," Prisca said softly. "But I also miss Claeo and I like to think that she would not have been so hasty."

Peregrin's expression grew hard. He was about to say something and then thought better of it. Peregrin laid a hand on Prisca's shoulder and said softly, "Prisca, Claeo is gone. We are on our own in this. We have to trust Eru and strive to make decisions without wondering what others might do instead."

"But that doesn't mean caution is irrelevant," Prisca said. "Peregrin, it sounds to me like you are willing to let this Varin do whatever he wants because you don't want to have this responsibility anymore."

Peregrin pulled away. "You're right," he said throwing his hands up. "But what harm can he do? Faron will monitor all his work and Varin will report to me. We have you and Laemellon to keep the borders strong. What is the harm of letting someone else help us?"

"I just have a…"

"...bad feeling about it," Peregrin said finishing her sentence. "I see. Well I will take that into consideration, but until something happens to change my mind, Varin stays." He began to walk away from her and down the hallway. As he walked, he called back to her, "The King left me in charge Prisca. I would hope that you can respect that."

* * *

Prisca watched as her cousin walked down the hallway and out of sight. Moments later, Laemellon stepped out from the shadows where she had been standing.

"Did you catch all of that?" Prisca asked.

"Indeed I did," Laemellon sighed. "You think his weariness is clouding his judgement?"

Prisca nodded. "I don't trust that elf. There is something about him that feels wrong."

Laemellon squatted down on her haunches so that she was at eye level with Prisca. She laid a comforting hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "Of all the people I have met in Middle-earth, you have near telepathic intuition. If you feel that Varin isn't to be trusted, then I agree with you."

Prisca smiled at her vanaloke friend. "Thank you Laemellon. I'm glad someone believes me."

Laemellon tilted her head to the side as she said, "Well...I also have my own doubts. For one, all that talk of a corrupted calling stone is utter rubbish."

"How so," Prisca asked.

"My people implemented calling stones when our army was formed in response to the attack upon our island. The morloki left shortly after the attack and _before_ our army was formed. They wouldn't have had any calling stones with them. So either Varin is terribly misled…"

"Or he's lying," Prisca finished.

Laemellon stood up to her full height and stretched her wings. Prisca stared up at the grey light coming in through the window. "So what do we do now," the hobbit asked.

"That's up to you, my friend," Laemellon said. "You are the Realm Jumper. I swore to serve Claeo and as her replacement, I am your's to command."

Prisca chuckled regretfully. "I'm afraid I am a sad replacement for her. I wish she were here. She would know what to do."

The vanaloke lowered her jaw dejectedly. "I miss her too." After a few moments of silence, Laemellon said, "But I think I know what she would do."

Prisca looked up at her hopefully. "And what is that?"

"Same thing we did the first time we were in this city," the vanaloke replied. "Keep our eyes and ears open."


	9. Letter 3

**Letter #3 **

Dearest Brother,

I can scarcely hold a pen to write what has happened. Melda and I journeyed to the settlement and met with a woman who said that her grandfather knew of the gem's location. The grandfather was a withered old man of only a few hundred years. It is alarming to see how the other Children of Illuvatar age so quickly. This man, who has been living on the edge of the waste all his short life, said that the legend of the gem had been passed down to him. He called it the Nolmirë, the jewel of knowledge. He said that it was originally given to men when they first awoke. It was a connection to Eru to help them to learn and build their society. Yet when the Valar perceived that the evil of Melkor was corrupting men as well, they took the gem at the bidding of Eru. They hid it in a high fortress of ice on a frozen mountain that no elf or mortal had ever seen. The old grandfather said that this mountain was guarded by terrible beasts made from ice and that any who ever dared seek it never returned.

You can imagine how intrigued I was to hear this. We stayed in the settlement for a few months and during that time I inquired of the presumed location where this mountain might be. I purposed to seek it. Melda implored me not to go, yet I was now resolved and within a month, I left with a few hired hands to seek the mountain.

The journey was difficult and before we had even reached the far north, every man who had gone with me perished in the snow. I, however, pressed on.

I cannot tell you how it happened, but by the grace of the Valar, I at last found the fortress of ice. I was greeted by fierce creatures at its gates. Terrible twisted and vile dragons that threatened to undo me with blasts of ice from their jaws. Yet I had brought with me what I suspected they were receptive to: fire. Do you remember my little invention that generates a spark without flint and steel? It came in handy as I met the terrible beasts. When they saw I held a torch in my hand, they stayed back and I was able to enter the fortress. It was a harrowing experience to say the least.

To tell you of my wonder in finding the gem would take ten letters. Let me just say that I have never beheld such a treasure. Even the gems you spoke of in your letter, the ones cut skillfully by the dwarves, likely pale in comparison to the Nolmirë.

I have yet to test its knowledge bestowing abilities. I hurried back to the settlement where I had left my beloved. She too wondered at the gem and a few months ago we returned home.

I will be conducting several tests before I put the gem to its full use. I shall write when I know more.

Yours,

G


	10. The Misty Mountains

**The Misty Mountains**

Traveling with men was very different. Women were apt to talk even when there was nothing to talk about. Yet as Claire's journey with Turion and Bergil was into its fourth day, she found that the young man and the vanaloke prefered silence as they walked. It was in the evening around the campfire that the real conversations took place.

Turion was an open book. He offered any information you asked including details about the Island of the Vanaloki and its history. Claire asked him questions even though she already knew the answers. She figured it would be easier not to slip up and say the wrong thing when he had already told her most of what she already knew.

Bergil on the other hand was as silent as ever, offering up the occasional info about Minas Tirith and Gondor, but nothing more. He continued to be rather cold towards Claire and she began to wonder if he actually _did_ recognize her.

At last the three of them came to the fork in the road that split the path. One way led to Hollyn and the western side of the Misty mountains. The other led up into the mountains themselves. Claire had taken the road towards Hollyn in past journeys in Middle-earth. She knew from reading _The Hobbit_ and the advice of Elrain that crossing the Misty Mountains could be treacherous. This was why Turion's suggestion for their journey made Claire uneasy.

"We will take the mountain pass," the vanaloke said. "Bergil says that it will be much quicker than going around the mountain range."

"What?" Claire said as she stared up at the rocky path. "But...surely you two are joking."

The young man and the vanaloke looked at her inquisitively. Claire stared at them until she realized they were serious.

"But we can't go that way!" she exclaimed. "It's a maze of paths up there and it's full of orcs and giants and other nasty stuff."

For the first time on their trip, Bergil laughed. Claire would have been happy to see his change in demeanor if he had not been laughing _at_ her.

When he recovered himself, the young man said, "Where have you been in the past 7 years? Everyone knows that King Aragorn himself commissioned the driving out of all Orcs from this pass so that more travelers could use it. Also, you don't have to worry about taking the wrong path when you have a vanaloke with you. Turion can fly ahead and tell us which path to take. If you're scared, I suppose you can go back to Rivendell."

Claire frowned at his condescending tone. Bergil turned and began walking towards the pass. Turion came beside Claire and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"It will be quite all right," he said. "Bergil knows the way."

Claire grumbled and adjusted her pack around her shoulders. This was going to be an interesting trip indeed.

* * *

A few hours later, Turion flew ahead to seek out the correct route. That left Bergil and Claire to wait on a mountain path that was flanked on either side by high walls of stone. To the west, they could see the path they had come from and the large hill of rock they had just scaled. And to the east, endless winding paths of stone that neither of them could see the end of. The pass was indeed a maze, so there was no choice but to wait.

Bergil leaned against the stone wall with his arms crossed. Claire stood on the other side a few feet away in a similar fashion. A part of her was beginning to loathe this kid and yet she was still curious. It was time to try a little kindness. Perhaps that would open him up.

"You know Bergil," she said casually as she walked over to him. "You and I are more alike than you think."

"How so," he asked as he looked up from his sulking.

"Well, you and I both have secrets that we don't want to tell. I can respect that if you can. And besides, you are right about Turion. He offers up way too much information about himself. Anyone who has lived in Middle-earth for any span of time knows you should keep certain things to yourself."

Bergil gave a small but hesitant nod. "I suppose you're right."

"But I'm still curious about you," she said. The sentence came out more awkward than she thought. She put up her hands and said, "What I mean to say is, if we are going to travel all the way to Minas Tirith, we should get to know each other as much as we are willing. So how about this...I'll ask a question and if you answer, then you can ask me a question. A trade of information so to speak. But if there is something you don't want to answer, just say 'pass'. How does that sound?"

The young man's expression softened a bit. He nodded again and said, "Can I ask first?"

"Sure," Claire said smiling. Perhaps she might actually be able to have a decent conversation with this fellow after all.

"What part of Minas Tirith are you from?"

"Third level, south side," Claire said. She felt very proud of herself for coming up with it so quickly. "Now my turn. How long did you live in Minas Tirith?"

"My father and I moved there shortly before the war and a few years after that we moved to Ithilien."

Bergil leaned back more confidently and asked, "How long did _you_ live in Minas Tirith?"

Claire faltered for a moment and then said, "Well...it's hard to say. I uh, I was there...around the time of the war."

The young man stepped closer to her. "So you were a child in Minas Tirith?"

Claire looked up at him with questioning eyes. She wasn't sure what he was getting at.

"The war was seven years ago," he said flatly. "You would have been around the same age as me...about 10 years old."

"Right. Of course I was," Claire said trying not to sound nervous. She was mentally kicking herself for not keeping up with the timeline in her head. "I was a child. Didn't see much of the battle...you know. Being so young."

"You're lying," Bergil said flatly. Claire shot a glance at him as he continued. "All of the children were gathered in one place on the sixth level during the Siege. I was one of them. There were very few children in the city and to my memory only two of them were girls." He leaned in closer to Claire as he said, "And they were babies at the time."

"Well that was a long time ago. And...and it's my turn to ask you a question."

"Oh is it?" he said annoyed. "Come on Claire, or whoever you are...why are you lying to me? Who are you?"

"Pass."

Bergil's brows furrowed and he rubbed his eyes in frustration. "This is so ridiculous," he said. "Why don't you just tell me who you are? I know we've met at some point and it's driving me mad."

"Well you know what's driving me mad," Claire shot back. "What you, Bergil, the expert on all things Minas Tirith, is doing all the way out here west of the Misty Mountains. And all by yourself too."

"Pass," Bergil said.

Claire sighed and rubbed her face with her hands too. "Look," she said in a softer tone. "This is what I was talking about earlier. Can we just accept that we both have secrets and have a normal conversation?"

"Well I don't -"

Bergil stopped mid-sentence. A sound was coming up from the west. Like something large scraping across the gravel path just beyond the apex of the hill they had climbed over earlier. They both turned and peered into the distance. The sound was getting louder and closer with each passing second.

"What is…?"

Claire gasped. Coming over the top of the hill was a huge, long-limbed thing. As its spiny appendages came into view, they both realized that they were huge clawed wings. Then the long neck and head rose above the hill and in an instant they understood what it was.

Claire gawked in astonishment. "A dragon?" she whispered. "But - but that's impossible. "

The dragon's head swung around as the bulk of its shape rose above the hill. Its main body was nearly the size of a full grown elephant. The most striking feature about this particular wyrm was that its skin was bleached white with a few pink rashy splotches. Along the back of its neck was a tangled mane of grey hair. Its eyes were wide and slitted and it panted hoarsely. Claire thought it reminded her of when a cat pants; the pant of a creature who was out of its element. It leaned forward on its front legs which were also its wings and a shiver ran through its body. This dragon was terribly ill.

Then it caught sight of them. For a moment Claire thought her heart had stopped. When the Gryphons back in Minas Tirith had looked at her like that, she had been holding a flaming sword. Now she had no weapon and no powers. The dragon's look chilled her to the bone.

She heard Bergil yelling something at her, but she couldn't move. Suddenly she felt him grab her arm.

"RUN," he screamed in her ear. She snapped out of her stupor as she saw the dragon begin to bound towards them at full speed. It slipped and scratched at the stones beneath its claws as it careened forward.

Then Claire was running. She had run for her life several times before in Middle-earth, but now it felt different. Bergil had let go of her arm and was a few feet ahead of her. She ran after him as he chose a fork in the path. Neither of them knew where they were going; they just knew they had to get away.

Claire could hear the stamping, scraping, lunging dragon behind them. A stitch began to form in her side and she began fervently praying to Eru that she wouldn't die again. Something in the back of her mind screamed that she couldn't die again, that such an event would screw up everything. Panic was taking Claire now and she didn't know how long she could run like this.

Then the walls of stone fell away and before them lay a narrow stone bridge over a ravine. Claire didn't bother to look at how deep it was or if the bridge was stable. She just continued to run. Bergil was about 20 feet ahead of her now and he was nearly to the other side.

The stones beneath her feet shuddered as Claire nearly lost her footing. She was so close now. Bergil turned to look back and his eyes were wide with fear. He was standing on the other side of the bridge with his hand stretched out to her.

Claire reached out her hand to his, but was suddenly jerked back. The stones beneath her feet were gone. She was falling into the ravine.

She didn't remember the impact. The throbbing sensation on the back of her skull was enough to tell her that she had hit the stones hard. Through her blurred vision she saw that the ravine was actually not that deep, only about 15 feet. Perhaps in a rainier season, it was a sort of large drainage ditch.

Her ears rang for a few minutes before she heard the dragon. It had fallen into the ravine with her, its weight being too much for the narrow stone walkway. It was lying a few yards away and its wing was caught under a large portion of the fallen bridge. Its muscular limbs flexed and pulled and its claws dug into the stone as if it were nothing. It would be free soon.

Claire could feel her limbs now. As she willed them to move, she realized something was wrong. Looking down at herself, she saw that she was lying on her back and that her left foot was caught under a large stone that had fallen in the bridge's collapse. Then the dragon got its wing free and Claire realized the horrifying truth: she was trapped.

The dragon was nearly frantic in its movements. It swayed as it walked in a drunken feverish gate. Claire had been faced with death many times before, but this time something was different. That sense in the back of her mind screamed again that she must not die. It screamed so loud that Claire began to scream herself. She had always wondered why people in movies screamed so loud when they were near death. She had died before and it had been quite peaceful. Looking back, she thought it had been a very dignified death. Yet now, she couldn't help the sound coming from her throat. She was going to die again and this time it wouldn't be pretty. She began to cry and plead, as if somehow if she cried and pleaded loud enough she would be rescued.

As the dragon's head arched forward, Claire twisted onto her left side. The creature's maw opened and, out of sheer habit and natural impulse, she threw her right hand upwards to ward off the attack. She screamed for Eru to save her. She screamed for the dragon to stop.

But it did not.

A concentrated blast of ice shot from the creature's mouth, like a laser, fine and precise. At the last moment, the dragon's breath swung wide and instead of slicing Claire completely in two, it caught her upraised hand. Searing pain like she had never known shot down Claire's arm and shoulder. She was unable to scream now. The very breath from her lungs had been taken away.

She rolled onto her back, her eyes aimed up at the afternoon sky. As her vision faded, she caught a flash of green followed by the red light of a blast of fire. Something else was screaming. Then she heard and saw no more.


	11. The Offer

**The Offer**

Red fire on stone was the first thing Claire saw. As her vision cleared, she saw that she was in a cave. The dark blue of night outside the entrance contrasted with the shivering warm lit walls around her. She moved her head and groaned at the pain. Everything hurt. The long face of Turion came into focus as he leaned over her.

"Slowly now," he said softly. He laid a leathery hand on her forehead and asked, "How do you feel? Still with us?"

"Mmmhmmm," Claire said weakly. Her eyes wandered to the other side of the cave where she saw the dim outline of Bergil sitting against the stone wall. He was facing away from them both. "Mmm….what...happened?" she managed.

"You and Bergil were attacked by a dragon," Turion said. "After you fell into the ravine, Bergil climbed down after you and managed to stop it from killing you. Then I flew in and burned the horrid thing. It didn't do well against fire. It went up like tinder. That dragon breathed ice. Bergil said that is uncommon in this land."

Turion looked at her thoughtfully for a moment and then his expression became grave and sorrowful. "Claire, I'm afraid ... there is something you need to know."

Claire could see the worry in his eyes. "What? What is it?" She tried to sit up, but the vanaloke held her in place.

"You need to rest," he said. "But you need to know what happened."

"What happened?" Claire demanded.

Turion grabbed Claire's hand and held it tight. "It's going to be alright," he said consolingly, his voice shaking slightly. "It will take time to become accustomed to... the situation."

That was when Claire felt it. She looked down at Turion gripping her left hand. Slowly her eyes shifted and she raised her right arm.

Her right hand was gone.

It didn't seem real at first. Where her hand should have been was a bandaged stump. Everything from just below her wrist and upwards - gone. She began to breathe hard. This couldn't be happening! And she was right handed too. How could she function? How could she complete her task?

Claire sat up slowly as tears began to stream down her face. Turion sat beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. And then Claire began to weep. She had mourned her wound back in Minas Tirith nearly 7 years ago. But that had been an injury that would heal. This was different. Her hand was completely gone. How could Eru have allowed this to happen?

She caught her breath as she began to think about how this wasn't permanent. She would wake up back in her own world with a right hand so it would be ok wouldn't it? Yet there was something so unnerving about losing an appendage, that Claire soon found herself trembling from the shock of it all.

"It's going to be alright," Turion said. "You are going to be fine."

But Claire was about 10,000 miles away from fine. She laid back down on the blanket underneath her and promptly cried herself to sleep.

* * *

In the grey light of dawn Claire stood outside of the cave entrance wrapped in her blanket. The tips of the mountains to the west were orange with the first rays of the sunrise. Such a sight might have warmed her heart on past adventures, but now all she felt was cold.

Her right arm hung in a sling that Turion had made for her. The vanaloke had done his best to stitch up the wound, but the ice had made the flesh tender and slow to heal. It would take some time before she could dare to put pressure on it.

Turion and Bergil exited the cave. The vanaloke helped Claire fold up her blanket and place it in her pack. It was an interesting venture getting her pack around her shoulders, but with his help she managed. Bergil stood off to the side, avoiding eye contact with Claire.

"The road ahead will be long and treacherous I fear," Turion said. "But so long as you keep your arm bound, it should heal in time." The vanaloke glanced over at Bergil and then turned back to Claire. "Bergil has offered to escort you back to Rivendell if that is your wish."

The young man continued to stare at the patch of mountain ahead of him. His jaw was tight and his expression regretful. Claire remembered what he had said before they had entered the pass and realized that this was the closest thing to an apology that he could manage. A twinge of pity sang through her mind, but the reality of her own plight came flooding in again. Even now she had to go forward even if it was the last thing she wanted.

"Thank you, but no," she said. "I must get to Minas Tirith."

Turion dipped his head. "Very well then."

The cave was set into the side of the ravine that Claire and the dragon had fallen into the day before. As the three travelers passed the place where the dragon had met its end, Claire noticed something, or rather the lack thereof.

"Where is the dragon's body," Claire asked. She knew it had burned, but surely there would be bones left.

"As I said, it went up like tinder," Turion said. "A direct blast of fire burned it away almost immediately. Its wings went first; like paper in a fireplace. It was very odd."

The stones beneath their feet were covered with a fine layer of ash. Claire assumed this was all that was left. She wondered if the remains of her hand were somehow mixed in with this. Again, the weight of losing an appendage swept over her and she did her best not to burst into tears.

And so the girl, the young man, and the vanaloke left the ravine behind and continued their journey across the Misty Mountains.


	12. Letter 4

**Letter #4**

Dearest Brother,

Your recent letter was most troubling to me. I must say that the account of your vision concerning the Nolmirë is most likely just a hapless dream. I have not experienced any danger to myself or to anyone else by the use of the gem. To say that the gem is "dangerous and accursed" seems a bit presumptuous. I know that your visions have become more intense, but I can assure you that no curse has fallen upon our family.

Oh yes! On that subject, I have wonderful news! Melda is with child! We are very excited about our first born and I have started building an addition to our abode to accommodate. I have also completed the expansion of my workshop which is timely. The Nolmirë is a fascinating object and I have only begun to test its power.

I have concluded that the gem works thusly: One holds it in their hand so that contact is made with the skin of one's fingers. Then one asks a question; this can be outloud or in the mind. Then the gem will answer. The more specific the question, the more information is given. Broad questions do not yield much. It also cannot tell of the future. All questions must be founded in the past or the present. I have asked it many things about the forging of gems and I have learned more in the past few months than I have in a 1000 years. I am very excited for what this means for the Noldor as well as the rest of Middle-earth.

I look forward to your future letters, but please be at ease. The Nolmirë is not dangerous in any way and if ever we meet again, I shall let you ask of it yourself.

Yours,

G


	13. The Interrogation

**The Interrogation**

The workshop of Varin Gamarion was on the 7th level of the city on the western rim. On one side of the room was a large wall filled with books and parchments. The elf had brought with him all manner of items, including several potions, books, cauldrons, and other instruments of alchemy and magic. The other side opened up onto a balcony that overlooked a small garden below which was set upon the 5th level between the mountain and the city. It was past this garden that the path to the Western Watch lay. Thus Varin had a constant view of the mountain pass and all morloki activity.

Prisca stood on the balcony looking out. The day was grey and foggy as usual. That had become the normal weather pattern of late. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen a clear sky. Turning away from the balcony, she walked back into the workshop and joined the crowd inside. Many of the dignitaries of the city were gathered there to see the progress that Varin had made in the past three weeks since his arrival.

In the center of the crowd was a long table and lying on the table, secured with countless leather straps, was an unconscious morloke. Varin had already shown off his abilities in catching one alive. Most morloki killed themselves if there was even a chance that they might be taken prisoner. As the crowd around him muttered in amazement, the elf checked the straps and made a few final preparations.

Prisca walked up next to Alric, Varin's young assistant. He was standing off to the side alone and talking to no one.

"Hello," Prisca said. "I don't think we have been formally introduced."

The young man took her hand in his and said, "Oh yes. It's Prisca isn't it? Prisca Baggins?"

"Yes," she said cheerfully.

"I'm Alric," the young man said. "It's an honor to meet you. I - I saw you on the day we arrived. You must be a great wielder of magic! To fly and throw your enemies around like that. You were amazing!"

Prisca tilted her head coyly and blushed a bit. "Well...I wouldn't say that. But I have been gifted with a few abilities."

"And your cousin, the Lord Pergrin….Varin has told me that he is a wielder of magic as well?"

The hobbit girl looked at the young man curiously. How did he know that? Had Peregrin been telling these two strangers everything?

"Yes. That is true," Prisca said slowly. "Though his skill is not quite the same as mine."

Alric chuckled politely and blushed himself. "It really is an honor to be able to come to Minas Tirith and help Varin in his work. I'm his assistant, but I'm afraid he does most of it."

"How long have you been Varin's apprentice," Prisca asked.

The young man shrugged. "Not terribly long. I'm from the lands around Dale far to the north. When I met him, Varin was passing through on a journey to the Lonely Mountain. He needed an assistant and I needed work. It all worked out well. I have learned so much from him! Though I do not think that I shall ever be as masterful in magic as he is. I've helped him gather almost all of these instruments." He gestured at the packed shelf of supplies. "Including that staff," Alric said pointing at a very ornate staff leaning against the wall in the far corner of the shop. "We got it from the dwarves in Erebor. They say that it can turn any substance into pliable granite. You should have seen him bargain for it. He's amazing! We have been studying it, but with no luck as to how to make it work."

Prisca watched Alric keenly as he talked. She liked him; indeed she almost fancied him. He wasn't bad looking for one of the big people. He was young, most likely in his late 20s/early 30s, but she could detect a certain level of maturity in his eyes. He was very easy to talk to and she realized that perhaps _he_ might be a good source of information on the elf magician.

"Alric," she said. "Do you know where Varin got the corrupted calling stone that he used for the Talisman?"

Alric glanced over at Varin who was organizing bottles of potion. "I don't. He had it before we met. Why?"

"Just curious," Prisca said. She thought it would be best to keep her doubts close to the chest. She would get information out of this young man slowly and over time. Patience was going to be key.

"There was something else that I wanted to ask you," the young man said. "My master and I were very eager to examine the metal arm of the demon Morlyg. I was sorry to hear that it was melted down."

Prisca nearly lost her footing for a moment as she turned to look up at the young man. "I beg your pardon?"

"From two years ago," he said. "News of the events in Minas Tirith have spread far. I know that Varin was very eager to look at the strange metal arm that the demon Morlyg left behind. Why was it melted down?"

"It was… Peregrin… the King…Peregrin told the King who she was and Aragorn had it destroyed. He feared it was evil." As the words spilled from her mouth haphazardly, Prisca's mind was spinning. Only she, Peregrin, and the King himself knew what had happened to Morlyg's metal arm. Did Peregrin tell them that too? How did Varin know so much?

Their conversation was cut off as Varin beckoned to Alric. The young man strode over and helped the elf with the potions. Then Varin turned to the crowd and addressed them.

"My friends," he said cheerily. "We are ready to wake the subject. Please stand back."

The crowd formed a circle around the table as Alric handed Varin a specific bottle. The elf carefully opened the morloke's mouth and dropped a few drips of the liquid down its throat. On the other side of the room, across from Prisca, stood Peregrin. He watched the elf with crossed arms and a stern gaze. Prisca could tell that he was anxious about the results of this demonstration. If Varin was successful, so many questions would be answered. Next to Peregrin stood Laemellon in the same judgemental stance.

Varin dismissed Alric and the young man returned to stand next to Prisca. The morloke's red eyes fluttered as it slowly began to regain consciousness. Varin reached over to a nearby table and retrieved the talasman. In the light of the lamps that hung around the room, the round object seemed to glow with a golden shimmer. The morloke had fully regained consciousness now and it began to pull at its straps. Murmurs of concern rippled through the crowd as the creature began to jerk and struggle.

Varin stood over the beast as he held up the talisman. The morloke gazed at it with wide eyes and suddenly fell still. It stared at the purple gem set into the golden circle; its eyes held transfixed as if the creature were in a trance.

"What is your purpose here?" Varin asked the morloke. "Why are the morloki attacking this City?"

The morloke was silent at first. Its mouth twisted and flexed as if the words were being drawn out of it and the creature was trying to hold them back.

"What do you want with Minas Tirith?" Varin asked. He brought the talisman closer to the morloke's face and the creature began to form words.

"Sssss," it hissed. "Sssecret. Secret in the city."

"There is a secret in Minas Tirith?" Varin asked. "Where is this secret you seek?"

"Hidden," the beast managed. "Hidden in the city. We must...find the ssssecret."

As the crowd began to fill with speculative whispers, Varin leaned in again and asked, "What is the secret?"

The morloke's face contorted in pain. It was trying so hard not to answer the elf. A gurgling sound began to rise from its throat; like a low choking growl.

"Gorm," it finally said. "Gorm methedyn."

Prisca glanced up at Alric who looked back at her with an equally confused expression.

"Gorm methedyn!" the morloke screamed. The crowd jumped at its shout. Varin stepped back from the table.

"What does that mean?" Peregrin asked on the other side of the room. "What is it saying?"

"It's elvish," Varin said. The elf looked disturbed. He leaned on a nearby table as he said, "'Gorm' means 'impetus' or 'spark'. Something that begins an event."

A memory of a word spoken in a vision sprang into Prisca's mind.

"You mean like a catalyst," the hobbit girl asked. Every eye in the crowd turned to look at her and Alric who stood next to her hunched his shoulders self consciously.

"Yes! Exactly," Varin said. "And 'methed' means 'end' but the suffix indicates a masculine possessive."

The elf looked over at Prisca and their eyes met. Again the hobbit girl felt the dark aura that she had experienced before. She shuddered as he uttered the complete translation.

"It means 'the catalyst of his end'."

* * *

"Peregrin!" Prisca called after her cousin. The crowd had long dispersed and Peregrin was making his way back to the throne room with his cousin in pursuit. Prisca didn't understand why he was in such a hurry.

"I need to speak to you," she said as she finally began to walk beside him.

Peregrin didn't stop walking as he said, "What is it Prisca? I have important matters to attend to."

"What the morloke said...I think I might have a clue for what it meant," Prisca breathed as she tried to keep pace. Pergrin slowed a bit.

"Go on," he said.

"Well, you remember my vision I had right before Claeo died? The Lion mentioned the word 'Catalyst'. He said '_When the catalyst is revealed, you must accept what must be done.'_ The morloki are looking for this secret, this catalyst. This must be what the Lion was talking about."

"So you think this secret that the morloki are searching for has something to do with your vision," Peregrin asked.

"Not my vision. It think it has something to do with the Abberator."

Peregrin stopped short. Turning to Prisca he said sharply, "Prisca we talked about this. Varin is not the Abberator."

"I know. I know, but hear me out," she said defensively. "Varin said that the morloke said 'the catalyst of _his_ end'. The suffix was masculine. And Elrain said that the Abberator would be a man. So somewhere in this city is something, a secret, that will ultimately lead to the Abberator's end. That's why the morloki are looking for it. They are in league with him."

Peregrin began to turn away, but suddenly jerked backward at the motion of Prisca's hand. The hobbit girl grabbed his arm. "You have to listen to me."

"Prisca! I don't have time for this."

"The day is getting closer Peregrin," she said urgently. "The day when he will arrive. The fixed point in time that Losswen saw… There was something on the otherside in the future. Something terrible. I heard it. The Owl gave me this responsibility…"

"Enough," Peregrin said. His voice echoed in the silence of the hallway they had found themselves in. "Prisca, that is all speculation. You don't know if the man the morloke referred to is the Abberator. It could be anyone. And Losswen…well she has been through a lot. I don't know what you heard, but you can't be sure what it was."

Prisca began to open her mouth to speak, but Peregrin put up a hand and fixed her with a stern gaze. "I appreciate that you are concerned with the morloki situation and solving this mystery. But what would you have me do? I cannot make decisions or submit proposals with no evidence."

The elder hobbit rubbed his eyes. Prisca could tell that he was exhausted and stressed. This new mystery was only adding to his anxiety.

"I have to meet with the delegates in a half hour to discuss Varin's findings," he said. "I don't have time for speculation Prisca. They will not accept that. Only proof. Cold hard proof. So please...don't bother me with this again until you have some."

Peregrin turned and walked away from her. This time she didn't stop him. Again Prisca was left alone as her cousin strode off to more important matters. She began to feel sorry for herself, yet her mind rang with sudden clarity. She now knew what she needed. She now had a clear and solid goal.

Prisca was going to find proof.


	14. The Other Two

**The Other Two**

The problem with traveling on foot is that it gives you too much time to think. By the time Claire, Bergil, and Turion had reached the other side of the Misty mountains and they were making their way south, Claire had come to several conclusions.

First, this was the worst and most miserable trek across Middle-earth she had ever experienced. With her right arm bound against her chest, she felt terribly off balance. Not only that, but the further south they went, the colder it seemed to become. She didn't have a scarf or a cloak and she found herself wishing to be back in a warm modern electrically heated house in her own world.

Second, she had no idea why she was going to Minas Tirith and it was driving her mad. On the first trip things had been laid out clearly. During the second journey events had moved quickly and her task became evident in a relatively timely fashion. Yet now, what did she have to look forward to? She was heading east and she was following "the brother". Next was something about a sign and a hidden door, but she had no idea what that meant. She wondered if this was what Jill Pole felt like in _The Silver Chair_ when she has been given the Signs by Aslan.

Third, concerning that last thought, the reality that Narnia was actually a real place pressed in upon her mind more than it had on previous ventures. Because surely if Middle-earth was real, then Narnia had to exist. She had never truly considered it before. The Narnia books had been an integral part of her childhood. They were her first jaunt into fantasy before _The Lord of the Rings_ came along to take over her entire life. Yet the ramifications were huge when she truly thought about it. Somewhere, in her world, there had really been a man called Uncle Andrew who inherited a wooden box from his godmother by which he made the magic rings that had led to practically everything involving Narnia. And the big giant cherry on top of that was the stark reality that if this were all true, then Atlantis was real. That was where the wooden box had allegedly come from. Claire chuckled regretfully when she thought about how her parents had written off all those History Channel specials she used to enjoy watching. Little did they know.

Fourthly, not having _the sight_ really sucked. She had never realized how much she used it on her previous missions. When Claire could see in the dark, night time seemed almost warm and inviting. Now she was helpless in the dark and the cold void seemed to smother her with each passing night. She had gotten very used to defending herself, yet now if they were to be attacked, she would be completely helpless. It was more frustrating than she could ever have imagined.

But the fifth and most depressing thing that occupied her thoughts was a question. Or rather _the_ question. When she thought about all the pain and misery she was going through, it made her feel all the more dejected to know that, if things were the same as they had been, she would remember almost none of this when she returned home. What was the point if she just went home and forgot it all? The first time she had learned a great lesson about the sovereignty of Eru. The second time she had gotten the sister she had always longed for. But what good was any of this if she didn't retain it?

With each step she took, she became more and more bitter at her situation. Often she would ask Eru "Why are You putting me through this? I know it's in Your plan, but what good is it? Why won't You let me remember?" And each time, the answer from Eru was silence. The loss of her hand didn't help her demeanor. By the time they reached the borders of Fangorn Forest, a month had passed and Claire's attitude had thoroughly soured.

She was in good company. Bergil had spoken barely a word since the attack. He had been silent before, but now he was even more withdrawn. Turion was the only one who tried to carry on a conversation. He got Claire to chat with him every once in a while, but even he fell silent more and more often.

Now, as the three of them stood at the borders of Fangorn Forest, they were all tired both mentally and physically. Claire shivered as the cold wind swept across the plains and shook the outstretched bows of the trees. Fangorn was a huge forest; nearly a hundred miles from one side to the other and even longer to go around. Even in days after the war, most people avoided this forest. There were rumors that the ents still dwelt there, but their numbers had seemed to wain.

The three travelers began the long trudge around the circumference of the forest. After half a day's walk, they reached the eastern most corner. It was just after noon and the sun was hidden under a grey clad sky. Turion sniffed the air suspiciously.

"Is this weather normal for this time of year," the vanaloke asked.

"No. It isn't," Bergil said looking up at the sky. "It should be getting warmer the further south we go. But it's...cold."

Claire shivered again. She decided that the first chance she got, she would tear off a piece of her blanket and make a scarf. This was almost unbearable.

Turion's head cocked sharply and his long horns spun around as he looked northwest, the direction they had come from. Claire noticed his wings draw in tight against his body, something Laemellon often did when she was anxious. Claire turned to look where the vanaloke was staring.

And then she saw it.

Miles away, hanging over the distant peaks of the Misty Mountains, was another white dragon, exactly like the one they had encountered in the mountain pass. It was zigzagging back and forth as it dipped in and out of the low clouds. Bergil turned and joined them in their gawking. He soon asked the question that was on everyone's mind.

"But...but you killed it didn't you? You killed that creature. It burned to ashes. We saw it!"

"Apparently there is more than one," Turion said. "With it dipping in and out of the clouds like that, it could sneak up on us and attack from above before we ever saw it coming." The vanaloke squinted with his keen blue eyes. "And it looks like it might do just that. It's getting closer."

"What do we do," Claire asked. It was a legitimate question, but her misery had seeped into her voice and made her sound more pathetic than she liked.

"I'll go kill it," the vanaloke said flatly.

"What?" Bergil said. "By yourself?"

"I did it before," Turion said. "All I need to do is give it a good blast of fire and it should burn away like the other one." The vanaloke turned to the worried humans and said, "It will be alright. I can certainly fly faster than the dragon if something goes awry."

Claire didn't like this. She didn't like the idea of Turion leaving them. In a fight, the vanaloke was their best defence. If he failed and they had to face a dragon alone, they didn't stand a chance. She wanted to object, but she was so cold that she just continued to shiver silently. What other option did they have?

"Look after her," the vanaloke said to Bergil. "Keep her safe."

Bergil nodded stiffly. Then Turion stretched his wings and with a flap, took to the sky. Before either of them had time to think, he was up amongst the grey clouds and out of sight.

After a moment or two, Claire asked, "So should we wait for him here or continue on?"

"I don't know," Bergil said regretfully. "I suppose we can keep going. He can find us as long as we are on the forest's edge."

Claire continued to stare towards the mountains. The dragon was out of sight now and the stillness was unnerving. "What do we do if he doesn't return?" she whispered to herself. This trip just kept getting worse and worse.

* * *

Rising above the clouds, Turion spied the dragon now wheeling in circles. These creatures were odd indeed. As the vanaloke drew closer, he could see that this beast was not as sickly as the first one they had encountered. It turned in the sky with precision and its skin was clear and shining.

The dragon dipped beneath the clouds. Turion tucked his wings and dived in pursuit. He would need to get a bit closer to have a clear shot. As he came below the clouds, the vanaloke looked around and spied the peaks of the mountains. Directly below him was where Fangorn forest met the mountain range. The dragon was flying towards the earth. Turion was sure it had seen him and was trying to get away. He smiled as he drew his wings in tighter to gain more speed. He was almost close enough.

Suddenly a huge shape swooped down on him from above. Turion glanced back to see a blast of icy breath shoot past him. He banked to the side and began to fly defensively. So there were two of them! This was a bad development. And from what he had glimpsed behind him, this second dragon was much bigger than the last two.

The vanaloke sped towards the mountains below. The second dragon had flown out of his line of sight. Turion began to panic as he thought about Claire and Bergil. He had to get back to them! They were helpless and they had no idea that there were _two_ dragons instead of one.

A large tail whipped at him from the side. Turion dipped and missed being flung against the mountain range, but now he was terribly off balance. The second dragon was next to him now and it swung its tail again. This time it caught him as he tried to fly away. The vanaloke fell, dazed and disoriented as the two dragons sped after him. Just before the rocks came up to meet him, Turion was able to regain control. Yet now he had few options. The two beasts were above him, raining down blasts of icy breath as he narrowly evaded them.

He was down around the feet of the mountains now. The forest would give him cover, but for how long? A cave loomed to his right and he took the chance. He threw himself into the rocky crevice and began crawling in as deep as he could go. Behind him, the dragons slammed into the mountainside. Turion could hear stones falling and cracking until suddenly, what little light he had was gone.

The dragons had buried him under the mountainside. Turion was trapped.

* * *

Claire saw it first. Dipping beneath the clouds and heading straight for them, the dragon was flying a break neck speed. The young girl gasped and reached for Bergil's arm with her left hand. The young man turned in surprise at her touch, but then he saw it too.

"It's...it's back," Claire gasped. Panic was taking her and she was having trouble breathing. "Where is Turion? Wha...what's happened?"

Bergil was trying to stay calm as he said, "I don't know. Maybe it can't see us." Claire could feel him trembling beneath her grip on his arm.

The dragon was low to the ground now. Its neck was straight out as its wings beat hard enough to just brush the grass beneath it. Claire and Bergil now realized the size of this beast. It was at least twice as big as the first dragon.

"No," Claire said. "It sees us. Bergil we have to hide!" Claire pulled away from him and stepped to the edge of the tree line.

"Are you mad?" the young man said incredulously. He grabbed her good arm and pulled her back. "We can't go into that wood. Have you heard about the things that are in there?"

Claire stared past him at the ever nearing dragon. She pulled her arm away from him and stepped back up to the edge of the wood.

"I'll take my chances with the trees," she called back to him. "You can take your chances with the dragon if you like." With that, she took off as fast as she could manage into the thick forest.

The ground was a maze of roots and undergrowth, yet Claire was almost glad of it. The reality that she might have just left Bergil to die weighed on her, but she shook it off and focused on her footing. After finding a more level spot about 20 yards into the trees, she turned and looked back.

Claire was just in time to see Bergil running through the opening in the treeline she had just come through. Seconds after he had ducked beneath the trees, the dragon slammed into the edge of the forest. The ground shook and Claire stumbled back. It was like being in the path of a tornado. Behind Bergil the dragon flailed and clawed as trees were pushed aside and trunks were splintered like matchwood.

Claire didn't wait for Bergil. She turned and continued to run. Suddenly a huge tail came down in front of her and she was forced to stop. The beast must have been over a hundred feet long! The dragon's head was below the canopy now, snapping at them like a bird pecking at seeds. The tail had wrapped around them and was cutting off their escape. They were trapped.

Claire looked back to see Bergil standing next to her, his sword drawn and at the ready. The head of the dragon came down and leveled with the ground. Its huge eye, which was nearly 2 feet in diameter, saw them and its slitted pupil narrowed. The head lurched and the gaping jaws lunged forward. Claire fell backwards into the leafy underbrush, her good arm shielding her face. Bergil stood his ground and sliced at the dragon's bottom jaw as the huge teeth threatened to chomp them. The dragon's mouth snapped the air and pulled back in pain. Bergil grabbed Claire by the arm and was yelling something at her, but she couldn't hear him over the sound of the dragon's horrible screams. Trees were collapsing all around them as the young man dragged her through the woods. The tail had moved and it looked like they might escape.

The head came down again and pecked at the earth not 5 feet in front of them. Bergil pushed Claire out of the way as the head swung forward. The beast's snout hit Bergil and threw him in the air. He hit a nearby tree and crumpled to the ground unconscious.

Claire ran over to him as fast as she could manage, yet in the midst of the chaos, she found that something was amiss. Bergil was disappearing into the forest floor. She cried out his name in panic as his body was slowly pulled beneath the leaves. Suddenly, her foot was caught on something. As she looked down she realized that the thick layer of intricate roots beneath their feet were moving. She was being pulled under!

With the chaos behind her and the terror below her, Claire didn't know what to do. She struggled against the roots as much as she could, but to no avail. She began to breath hard as the roots began to work their way around her chest like long slow creeping vines. She glanced back at the dragon just in time to see the jaws come forward. At the last second, she was pulled under and she heard the dragon's jaws snap at where she had just been.

All was dark. The roots wrapped around her holding her down. She could still hear the dragon thrashing around above, but something had changed. Was there something else up there fighting with it? After a few moments the noise and movement died away. Silence fell and Claire could hear her own shaky breathing.

Suddenly the roots snapped away. Blinding bright daylight streamed in and the roots holding Claire released her and pulled back like slithering snakes. As she looked up out of the nest of roots she was lying in, she squinted warily into the brightness. There was a tall shape leaning over her. It was somewhat man shaped but its outline was jagged and unnaturally slender.

A huge hand shot down and wrapped around Claire's middle. She squirmed and kicked as she was raised into the air, but she stopped struggling as a face drew close to her's. Claire blinked as she beheld the face of what had to be an ent.

The ent was nearly 15 feet tall with smooth bark-like skin and a slender build. He had a grey/green beard that prickled out from his face. As he looked at Claire she was surprised to see amazement in his round glassy green eyes. His hand was just big enough to hold Claire around the waist. His grip was firm but not crushing, though it was not the most comfortable position she had ever been in. She glanced down and saw that in his other hand hung Bergil. The young man was still unconscious, his head, arms and legs hanging limply towards the forest floor. The ent was holding him by the back of his shirt like one would hold a sack of groceries.

Claire looked back at the ent in confused wonder. At last he spoke. His voice was higher than she had expected and his speech came at a normal rate.

"And who might you be?" he said, his beard shuddering like a tree stirred in the wind.

"I - I'm Claire," she stammered. "Who are you?"

"I am Bregalad," the ent said proudly. And then with a bit of a rumble beneath his breath, he said, "What do you mean by bringing dragons into this forest, Claire? Do you know that many trees lost their lives today?"

"Yes," Claire said quickly. "I'm terribly sorry. Really I am. You see my friend who you have in your other hand there...we were trying to escape the dragon and it followed us. We didn't mean to cause harm."

The ent looked at her thoughtfully and gave a long hhhhhrrooommmhooommmm and began taking long steady strides further into the forest.

"Now hold on a moment," Claire objected. "Where are you taking us?"

"To Wellinghall of course. You must answer to the master of these woods."

Claire's eyes widened when she realized who he meant. But Treebeard was a reasonable fellow. Surely he would understand that they didn't mean to bring a dragon into Fangorn on purpose.

As the ent walked, Claire caught a glimpse of the trees behind him. In the distance where they had come into the forest, it truly did look like a tornado had come through, but the dragon was nowhere to be seen.

"What happened to the dragon?"

"Huorns took care of him," the ent said. "They wrapped their roots around his neck until he gave up his destruction. Flew off southward. He won't trouble these lands again."

Then it suddenly struck Claire as to who she was speaking to. "You said you're Bregalad," Claire asked. "Are you _the _Bregalad? The one some call Quickbeam?"

"I am," the ent said. "How do you know my name?"

Claire glanced down at the still unconscious Bergil swaying in the ent's hand and said, "We have a mutual friend. The hobbit Peregrin Took is a good friend of mine."

Quickbeam's bushy eyebrows raised in surprise. "Are you now?" he said. "And how do I know you speak truly?"

"He told me about you," Claire said quickly. Her brain was spinning as she tried to remember Quickbeam's interactions with the hobbits in _The Two Towers_. "He said that you got the nickname Quickbeam because you answered an elder ent before he had finished his question."

The ent gave a low chuckle and Claire found herself bouncing up and down in Quickbeam's grip. "I did indeed," he said. "It is good to meet a friend of a friend."

Claire chuckled nervously and asked, "Good to meet you too. Could you put me and my friend down please?"

"Oh I'm afraid not," Quickbeam said as he continued to take long purposeful strides. "Can't have you two running off."

For hours the ent walked, Claire in one hand and Bergil in the other. By the time night fell, Claire had long given up on trying to convince Quickbeam that they would not try to escape him if he let them down. Soon sleep began to overcome Claire, but falling asleep in an upright position in the grip of a giant hand was not ideal. Yet the ent was kind to her and let her rest in the crook of his arm. Thus Claire's eyes closed as the sing song voice of Quickbeam and his rhythmic ent strides lulled her to sleep.


	15. The Backstory

**The Backstory**

It was later the next morning when Bergil awoke. Claire sat upon a nearby stone as she tried to make some sense of her crazy hair. The loose braid she had made at the beginning of her adventure had held nicely, but bits of twig and leaves stuck out here and there. Claire found it incredibly satisfying, albeit a bit combersome, to remove them with her good left hand. Nearby Bergil slowly sat up from the pile of leaves he was lying in. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at her bewildered.

"Good morning," Claire said cheerily. "How's your head?"

Bergil rubbed the back of his skull and winced. He blinked a few times and then asked, "What happened?" He looked around at the warm sunshine and the babbling waterfall nearby. "Are we dead?"

Claire laughed. It felt so good to laugh! She would have been lying if she said she hadn't wondered the same thing when she first woke a few hours earlier. She got down from the stone and walked over to him.

"No. We're not dead," she said. She sat down next to him in the leaves and asked, "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I remember running from that dragon. It's a bit of a blur."

"You hit your head," Claire said. "The dragon threw you against a tree."

The young man rubbed his head and winced again. "That feels about right," he said glumly.

"The trees protected us from the dragon while the ents and other huorns took care of it. Apparently it escaped and flew away. And then Quickbeam carried us all the way here."

"Hold on," Bergil said. "_The Ents_? The Ents saved us?"

Claire smiled and nodded. "How's your neck? I would think it was sore after being toted by the back of your shirt like you were."

Bergil stood up shakily. "This... this is... You mean to say that you and I were rescued by the ents? As in the ents who reclaimed Isengard?"

"Yes," Claire said standing up next to him. "And this is Wellinghall." She gestured to the waterfall, rockface, and looming trees. "Quickbeam brought us here early this morning. We are almost to the southern side of the wood."

"The southern side side!" Bergil exclaimed. "But that's almost a hundred miles."

"Ents can travel very well when they are in their element. And we got lucky that it was Quickbeam that found us. He's more spry than the others. They also retrieved your sword. Nice of them to do that."

Claire pointed to the nearby ledge where the young man's broadsword sat. Bergil walked over and retrieved it. After examining the weapon, he put it back in its sheath. He sauntered over to the rockface and splashed cold water on his face and hands. After he had recovered somewhat he walked over to Claire. "I have heard stories about this place. A friend of mine was once here."

"Oh?" Claire said.

"You might have heard of him. Peregrin Took?"

Claire tried to look like she didn't recognize the name. Bergil continued.

"I met him during the war. He and his cousin were the ones who stirred up the ents to take Isengard." Bergil smiled in wonder at the trees above. "I never imagined it was like this."

Turning back to Claire, he said, "And you say one of them _carried_ us here? How big are they? What do they look like?"

"The best description I have is 'Treeish'. You'll see when you meet them. Oh yeah...there is one more thing." Claire stared at her shoes for a moment as she said, "They kinda blame us for bringing that dragon into the forest."

"What?" Bergil said. "That's ridiculous! We didn't do it on purpose."

"I tried to explain that to them," Claire said. "But they say that -"

Claire was cut off by the sound of large steps stomping through the forest. Quickbeam came into the clearing and stood before them. He bowed before an awestruck Bergil and said, "A pleasure to meet you Bergil. I have come to take you both to Treebeard. I have been told by Claire that you will follow and not try to run away."

Bergil glanced at Claire who added under her breath, "It's better than being carried by him. Trust me."

The two humans compiled. Quickbeam walked behind them as they made their way through the forest. Soon they came upon another clearing and in the center stood a considerably tall ent with a long shaggy beard. Next to him stood several other ents of lesser stature.

"Hroom hroom greetings," the ent said. "I am Treebeard, the lord of this forest. I have been told your names, though they do not tell me much about you. What do you both have to say for yourselves? Hrooom. Bringing such vile creatures to tear and destroy my trees."

"Great Treebeard," Claire said in her most formal tone. "I and Bergil sincerely apologize for any harm that was caused. But in our defence, we were seeking shelter from the beast. We did not bring him into Fangorn on purpose. Indeed if there had been somewhere else we could have sought shelter, we would have taken it."

Treebeard eyed her thoughtfully. Claire had met Treebeard once before. It had been on the return trip from Minas Tirith when the company had stopped in Isengard. However, Claire was now somehow unrecognizable to everyone she met. Meaning that any advantage of knowing the ent prior to this encounter was useless.

"Bregalad," Treebeard said as he looked over to Quickbeam. "Do you trust these two mortals?"

"I have not spoken long to the man," Quickbeam said. "So I cannot say much for him. However I spoke to Claire long. I sense she had a good heart. She is also a friend to Peregrin Took."

Treebeard's bushy eyebrows raised in surprise. Bergil turned to Claire with a look of shock and confusion on his face. Claire realized the serious error she had made and she swore silently to herself.

"Is that so?" Treebeard said. "Then well met, Lady Claire. Though this does not absolve you from what has happened, we understand your predicament. What has brought you and your counterpart to Fangorn?"

Bergil stepped forward and said, "First of all, I'm not her counterpart. Second, with all due respect lord of the...trees, that is our business and not yours."

Treebeard have a deep throated laugh. "Oh now! _Your _business? Young man, you are in _my _forest and your actions cost us the lives of many trees." Treebeard took a step forward and loomed over Bergil. The young man took a cautionary step back as the ent boomed, "You are in no position to withhold information."

"Ok hold on," Claire said, stepping between Bergil and the ent. "Treebeard I assure you, our mission is pure. We are traveling to Minas Tirith with another friend, but we got separated."

"And who was this other friend," Treebeard asked.

"His name is Turion. He's a - a vanaloke."

There was an audible slow and deep gasp from the other ents. Treebeard stepped back and said, "Vanaloke? I have not heard that word spoken since before the darkness. And even then it was in whispers of legend. Where is he, this vanaloke?"

"We don't know," Claire said. "He flew away to draw the dragon away from Fangorn, but he never returned."

Quickbeam interjected and said, "A few of the other ents were speaking last night about the dragons chasing something at the foot of the mountains. Perhaps it was this vanaloke?"

"Dragons?" Bergil exclaimed. "You mean there was more than one?"

Treebeard turned to another ent who stood by. "Send word to Fladrif and ask that he gather those nearest him and search for this missing vanaloke." The ent nodded and strode off into the wood.

Treebeard turned back to Claire and Bergil. "We will do our best to find the vanaloke. Tomorrow morning we will escort you to the southern side of the forest. Perhaps by then we will have recovered your friend."

* * *

When they returned to Wellinghall, Claire prepared herself to be run over the coals. It didn't take long. As soon as Quickbeam left them alone, the question at hand couldn't be avoided.

"Why didn't you tell me you know Peregrin," Bergil asked. Claire could tell he was angry and her hesitation only seemed to make things worse.

At last she said, "I - I didn't think it mattered."

"It mattered enough to tell the ents. Or did you make that up? Did you just hear about all the things that went on during the war and then recite it to them to get yourself out of trouble?"

The irony of his question was not lost on Claire. "Perhaps I have heard some things," she said at last.

Bergil paced in front of her and rubbed his face wearily. "Look," he said in a calmer tone. "This journey has become much more arduous than I thought it would be. I don't know who you are Claire, but if I tell you why _I_ am here and my whole story, will you tell me who you are?"

"Why do you care so much about who I am?" Claire asked.

Bergil flexed his fingers in the air as if he could somehow grasp the answer to his questions. "Because...because I swear we've met before and yet I don't recognize you. And it's driving me mad."

"I'm sorry Bergil," Claire said softly. "I can't tell you who I am."

The young man gave a groan and spun around. He kicked at a nearby tree and then thought better of it as the huge trunk moaned softly. The two humans didn't talk much after that. Claire wanted to tell him everything like she had wanted to tell Turion, but she knew she didn't dare. Yet as she sulked along with, and yet separately from, Bergil, she began to wonder if she could meet him halfway somehow.

* * *

The journey to the southern border of Fangorn felt long as it was slow. Flanked by several ents, Claire and Bergil trudged through the underbrush of the forest. Bergil was ahead of Claire as the two plodded along.

"I'm not from Minas Tirith," Claire said an hour or so into the trip. The young man stopped and turned. As she walked up beside him she added, "Though I did live there for a few months. That was where I met Peregrin."

Bergil began to walk beside her as she continued. "I'm from far away, I can tell you that. And my mission is a secret mission, but I'm on the good side of things. I don't really know why I'm going to Minas Tirith, but I know I must get there. It's hard to explain, but I know that somehow everything will work out."

Claire glanced down at her right arm. It had healed enough for her to let it out of the sling and hang freely. Her bandaged stump looked odd and out of place.

"Do you really believe that?"

"What?" she said.

Bergil looked over at her attentively. "Do you believe that _that_ will work out?" He nodded towards her arm.

"I don't know," Claire said slowly. "I hope it does, though I don't see how."

As Claire began to ponder this, Bergil suddenly said, "I ran away." He glanced down at her surprised expression as he said, "My father...he died."

Claire's eyes grew wide. She remembered Bergil's father. Beregond had been his name and he had been a close friend of Peregrin's as well.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly.

Bergil's jaw tightened as he continued. "He didn't die in battle or anything like that. He got sick. It was so quick. We were living in Ithilien and there was no one else to look after me. So they sent me to live with my Uncle Iorlas who lived in Minas Tirith after the war. But being in that city just made me feel more empty. It reminded me of when I lived there with…"

His voice trailed off as Claire thought she saw a tear forming in his eye. He wiped his hand across his face and continued.

"So I ran away. I took a horse and some provisions and I decided to ride west until I couldn't ride anymore. I had heard rumors of the elves and how they sailed across the sea to better lands. It was daft of me to think that I might be able to, but I didn't care. After months alone in the wilderness I finally made it to the sea. I had never seen anything like it. The elves there were few and they wouldn't let me sail with them. So I sat on the beach and wondered if it would be better to just walk into those crashing waves and end it all."

Bergil paused and glanced towards the canopy above them. In the golden hues of morning, the leaves seemed to glow with a yellow/green light.

"Then he came," Bergil said. "I saw him from a distance but didn't know what to make of him. When he landed on the shore, he addressed me like any normal person would. He said he was searching for his sister. I had heard tales of the companion of the Venë Faeur and he seemed to fit the description for a relative of her's. I thought about sending him on his way...but there was something about Turion that made my head clearer. I realized how foolish I had been and that I needed to go home. So I agreed to show him the way to Minas Tirith, though I didn't want to tell him everything about me. I felt ashamed at how I had run from my Uncle and what I had contemplated doing."

Claire smiled sympathetically. "I'm glad you didn't," she said. "Otherwise I'd be dead." The young man glanced down at her inquisitively. "You saved me from that dragon," she clarified. "I know we haven't seen eye to eye on this trip, but I appreciate that at least."

"You're welcome," Bergil said flatly. "I'm sorry I have been so difficult. I suppose I'm still grieving my father. It's just…when I was in Minas Tirith, things didn't feel right. I was constantly reminded that something was missing and yet there was no way for me to get it back. It was driving me mad."

"I understand," Claire said. "I haven't lost my father, so I can't begin to compare it to what you are going through but...in my...in my land where I come from...I've lost something too. Something that I know I should have but is impossible to get back. And there's no one who would really understand why it bothers me because it's hard to put into words. It's like...it's like…"

Claire glanced down at the stump where her right hand used to be.

"It's like a piece of me is missing. Something that was a part of me that is gone. It's like my soul still thinks it's there but my brain can't register it. And it's driving me mad."

The two walked in silence for a few minutes. In the distance they could see the edge of the forest approaching. Their journey with the ents was almost over.

"I suppose we have more in common than we thought," Claire said at last.

Bergil sniffed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I suppose so," he said.

They came out from under the trees. Claire and Bergil squinted in the bright sunlight. As the ents gathered around them, they saw a separate group coming to meet them. Claire looked and saw a hint of bright green amongst the troop. And then her heart leapt when she realized who it was.

"Turion!" she called. The vanaloke came running forward and embraced them both.

"Oh praise Illuvatar!" he said. "I was so worried about you two. I went after the dragon, but was trapped by him and his companion in the mountains. And then last night when I thought all hope was lost, these magnificent beings rescued me."

"We are honored by your presence," Treebeard said as he and many of the other ents bowed. "You and your people are only spoken of in whispers of legend unheard by mortal ears."

Turion bowed low, his wings outspread in the common vanaloke fashion. "The honor is all mine noble onodrim. May your trees never wither and your forests expand beyond your borders. Thank you all!"

The ents bowed again. As they began to leave, Quickbeam bid goodbye to Bergil and Claire.

"Farewell young ones," he said. "Stay away from dragons."

Claire laughed and said, "We will try Quickbeam. And thank you for saving us. It was an honor."

The ent's beard bristled as he smiled. He waved farewell and then followed the other ents back into the forest.

"Well you two," Turion said. "I shall have to hear of all your adventures tonight around the fire. There are still many miles to go, but the Gap of Rohan draws near I think. Hopefully we will not have any other encounters with dragons for a long while."

As the three of them began to walk southward, Claire pushed down the feeling of gathering anxiety rising within her. She knew there were two dragons out there now and she wondered if they were a sign of past trouble or of things to come.


	16. Letter 5

**Letter #5 **

Dear Brother,

Much has happened since last I wrote to you. I have made a fascinating discovery that will change the course of all we have ever done in Middle-earth. I was sitting in my workshop inquiring of the Nolmirë about the stars. I happen to ask about their distance and the answer was given to me. It is incredible how far away the lights in the night sky are. But then I asked what was beyond the stars and the answer was nothing like I had ever thought.

The Nolmirë told me that there was an edge. When I asked edge of what, it replied "the edge of the world." Of course the obvious question had to be asked: What lies beyond the edge of the world? The Nolmirë simply replied, "The other worlds." From further inquiry into this, I discovered that there are in fact other lands or realms beyond our own. How does one comprehend such a thing? Other places like, or perhaps unlike, Middle-earth filled with people and creatures that we cannot fathom.

I am not sure what to do with such knowledge. I am still very overwhelmed by the discovery. I hope all is well with you. Write soon.

Yours,

G


	17. The Source

**The Source**

That night around the campfire Bergil and Claire told Turion of their adventure with the Ents. The vanaloke marveled to hear how they had been carried nearly 100 miles and how they had stayed in Wellinghall. He was more awestruck however when Bergil finally told Turion the tale of how he came to be on the shores of the sea.

"Oh my friend," Turion said. "You need not be ashamed of being impetuous. We all deal with grief in different ways. I am so sorry for your loss. But you must not let your circumstances dictate your destiny. It is the choices you make that will determine what kind of man you will become. And it is never too late to make the right choices."

A twinge of memory rang in Claire's mind. The concept felt familiar. Then she remembered that Sunday school lesson on Matthew 7:7 she had heard from months before. She was surprised that she even recalled it.

As she laid down to sleep that night, Claire felt more calm and safe than she had ever been. She was back with Turion again, her vanaloke protector. Also Bergil's demeanor had brightened considerably. There was great comfort to be found in talking about your struggles amongst friends. All three of them were now on good terms. As she drifted off, she thought that perhaps from this point on this would not be such a bad journey after all.

* * *

Claire awoke to cold night air and bright stars above. She lifted her head and glanced around to see what could have awoken her. A few feet away on her right, Bergil lay sleeping. Turion was on the other side of the remains of their campfire. He was curled up under his wings in the common vanaloke fashion.

All was quiet so Claire laid back down. Staring up at the stars, she began to think of Prisca and how much she missed her. Did Prisca know she was back in Middle-earth? Boy wouldn't she be surprised when -

Darkness swept over Claire's eyes. A hand clamped over her mouth. Something was clutching her and dragging her away. She tried to scream but only a muffled sound came from her lips. There was the sound of a scuffle as she tried to kick and flail as much as she could. Then she felt herself being lifted. She thought she heard Turion's voice yelling something indiscernible. And then someone struck her on the head and she heard and saw no more.

* * *

Bergil awoke to Turion yelling his name. When the young man didn't respond immediately, the vanaloke gave him a swift kick in the ribs. There was commotion in the trees nearby and Bergil soon noticed that Claire was gone. He sprang up and drew his sword. Something was carrying the young girl away! As he began to run forward, a shadow sprang up in front of him. In the dim moonlight he wondered for a moment if it were Turion and then quickly realized that wasn't the case.

The beast was as big as Turion but it had no wings. Bergil immediately recognized it as a morloke, one of the foul creatures that was plaguing Minas Tirith. It snarled as its claws reached for him. Bergil ducked the creature's blow and swung his sword at the thing. It darted to the side at a terrifying speed. The reality that with each passing moment, Claire and her kidnappers were getting further and further away, screamed in Bergil's mind. He gritted his teeth in frustration as he tried to land a clean blow at the thing attacking him.

Suddenly the morloke's back arched unnaturally and it gave a gurgling screech of pain. Then before Bergil's eyes, Turion appeared out of nowhere, his long claws jutting from the creature's chest. The young man blinked a few times trying to understand what he was seeing.

Turion threw the body of the beast aside, turned, and took off after Claire's abductors. Bergil followed and soon the two of them were running as fast as they could through the moonlit forest.

At last they came to the edge of the trees. Ahead of them were the last few rocky crags of the mountain that ended the range of the Misty Mountains. The Gap of Rohan could be seen in the distance, empty and moonlit with the faint line of the river Isen glimmering in the night air.

Set into the side of a nearby wall of rock and earth, Bergil saw what looked like a door. In the dim light it was hard to tell. He crouched next to Turion as they both hid behind a large stone. As they peered from their hiding place they saw several of the morloki were gathered near the door in the mountain.

"Morloki," Bergil whispered. "That's what they call them in Minas Tirith."

Turion shook his head. "Alas that members of my own people should regress so. Such vile creatures they are!"

A few morloki approached carrying a limp form. As the door opened wider and a faint red light spilled out, Turion and Bergil were able to make out the distinct shape of a human female. She was being drawn inside. Bergil began to leap up from behind the stone, but Turion held him down.

"We can't just let them take her," the young man hissed.

"Yes, but we can't run in without a plan," Turion said. "Those creatures are cunning and it will take some strategy to get her out of there."

"What do you propose we do," Bergil asked in frustration.

The vanaloke examined the door for a moment. The grey of dawn was just beginning to spread over the land now and they could see things a bit more clearly.

"Let me have a look from up above," the vanaloke said. "I have a feeling there is more to be seen from there."

* * *

The first thing Claire registered was the pain in her skull. The back of her head throbbed miserably. When she could feel her limbs again, she slowly tried to move. Her eyes blinked open as she saw the reddish glow of a fire on a cave wall. Had she been here before? Yes, this was the cave Turion had brought her to after the dragon attack. Had she dreamed everything since that moment?

She turned her head slowly and saw a shape nearby. Through her bleary vision it looked like Turion. The shape approached and Claire asked, "What happened? Have I been dreaming?"

A long gnarled face drew close to her's and Claire gasped in horror. She hadn't been dreaming! The thing in front of her was a morloke. Its lips pulled back in a leering grin as it hissed, "Not dreaming. No escape for you."

Claire recoiled and pressed against the cold stone beneath her. She was lying on a cave floor. There was an old and rusty manacle around her left ankle that was connected to an equally old and rusty chain which fastened to the cave wall. Her arms were free, but there wasn't much she could do to her captors with one hand. The beast that leaned over her was crooked, spikey, and sharp. She didn't dare try to hit it for fear of losing another appendage.

Beyond the morloke was a door that was covered in a dirty fabric curtain. A fire burned in a corner, bathing the room in a red hellish light. Claire began to tremble. She had been kidnapped by morloki! How had this happened? Turion was supposed to keep her safe.

"Shaman is coming," the creature hissed. "She will see you now." The morloke drew away from Claire and slunk out of the curtained doorway. The young girl sat up and leaned against the wall of the cave. She began to take deep breaths as the situation began to settle in her mind. She was in a cave. Where exactly this cave was, she couldn't tell. What were they going to do to her? If they wanted her dead, they would have killed her by now wouldn't they? And why had they taken her? Had they taken Turion and Bergil too?

A figure stepped through the dirty curtain. This morloke was very different than the others Claire had seen before. It wore a sort of red cloak that hung from its long neck and down its curved and crooked back. It walked low to the ground on its haunches and leaned on an ornately carved staff. Its twisted horns stuck out through holes in its cloak and the spines that jutted from its back poked out of the material through messy tears in the fabric.

Its face was marred, the nose of its snout torn off to reveal an almost skeletal nostril cavity. White paint was smeared along its face and its eyes were a bright yellow instead of the standard red.

Claire backed up against the wall as the thing crawled up to her. Its clawed hand reached for her and began to stroke her trembling chin.

"So young," the morloke said. "So much fear."

"Who - who are you? What do you want with me?" Claire said through shaking breaths.

"I am Shaman," the morloke said. "Last mother of elder darkness from before the awakening." The Shaman tilted her head and fixed Claire with one of her bright yellow eyes. "I want to know who you are."

Claire swallowed and tried to muster as much courage as she could. "I - I won't tell you anything."

The Shaman smiled and gently stroked Claire's cheek. "Dear child," she said. "Words are not necessary. I can take your mind as I wish."

The vanaloke dropped its staff and gripped Claire's shoulder. It flipped her over onto her stomach and then pulled her back up onto her knees. Claire could feel the Shaman's hand slowly begin to grip the back of her skull. She had heard the stories and dread filled her lungs with panic.

"Please," she gasped. "Please... I'll tell you - I'll tell you who I am. I'm a messenger from Minas Tirith. I'm just passing through on my way to the city. I mean no harm to you. Just let me go. I don't have anything you want."

She heard the morloke chuckle as its grip became tighter. "You lie," it hissed.

What happened next, Claire would never forget till her dying day. The Shaman's claws dug into Claire's skull like five hot metal knives. She tried to scream, but no sound came from her throat. She felt paralyzed. Her limbs and mouth were frozen in place. Soon the pain became numbed and she was able to breath again.

That was when the worse part began. She could feel the morloke in her brain. As if her skull had been opened and it had its hand in there, groping around, feeling her memories without her permission. With each moment that passed, Claire felt the energy being drawn from her limbs. She prayed to Eru to make it stop. In her mind she was screaming for mercy.

The claws withdrew with a sickening slicing sound. Claire's good hand flew up and grabbed her head. When she looked at her hand again, there were traces of blood across her fingertips. She spun around and crawled away from the Shaman. The morloke was panting hard as if it had suffered a terrible shock. It stared at Claire in amazement, its yellow eyes wide as it sucked in air through its sharp teeth.

It raised a gnarled hand and pointed at Claire. It was shaking as it said, "You. You are…" It choked on the next word as if it hurt. "You are... her." It reached beneath its cloak and pulled out an object. Claire recognized it.

It was Morlyg's sword, the strangely advanced blade that the demon had used so long ago. The Shaman held it up and pushed the button on the side. The blade shot out, glowing and hot. However, half of it was broken off making it now more like a dagger than a sword.

"It is my sacred right," the Shaman said. "To slay the enemy of the creator with the holy blade."

The morloke began to crawl towards Claire again, the glowing weapon held high.

"Wait, hold on!" Claire pleaded. "I'm not her. I'm not!"

"You lie!" the Shaman cried. "I've seen your mind. You are her! You are the enemy of the creator. Bain of the deathless master. Gorm methedyn!"

Claire threw up her hand and her stump of an arm to shield herself. Her eyes were filled with tears as she prayed to Eru for a swift and painless death like her last death had been.

Nothing happened. Claire lowered her arms to see the Shaman staring at her, the blade still poised to strike. Yet the expression on the creature's face was drawn tight in confusion. It was staring incredulously at her stump where her right hand used to be.

A commotion rose up from behind the curtain. Claire and the Shaman both turned and as they did, a figure swept the curtain back and ran into the room. A sword sang through the air as the Shaman's hand and Morlyg's blade fell to the floor. The Shaman screamed as blood poured from her wrist. Claire recoiled and looked up.

It was Bergil.

For a moment it didn't seem real. Out of hope beyond hope, he was there standing in front of her. Amidst the screaming and chaos around her, she saw him pick up a nearby stone and smash the chain binding her to the wall.

"Come on!" he yelled as he pulled her to her feet.

Claire began to run. Down through the tunnel that was past the curtain, she could see daylight. The end of the tunnel was filled with warm morning daylight and her heart leapt at the thought of escape. She was so giddy with the feeling that she didn't realize Bergil was yelling at her to stop.

She burst out into the light and got the shock of her life. There was no more floor. She was out on a high ledge with no rail and for a moment Claire teetered on the edge. Bergil grabbed her arm and pulled her back. Claire recoiled into his embrace as she stared in horror at the sight before her.

They were inside a huge cylindrical hole in the earth. Above was a wide opening that was covered by criss crossing spikes of wood. The curved walls of the hole were covered with scaffolds and walkways that led into other tunnels like the one they had just come out of. And below, like the mouth of a great furnace, was a seemingly unending shaft that disappeared into a dull red light. It looked as if it went to the very center of the earth. Further down were even more tunnels and walkways and as Claire blinked, she saw shapes moving.

Morloki. Tens of thousands of Morloki crawled and climbed as far as the eye could see, like ants in a stirred up ant hill. Then it suddenly became clear to her. This was what Laemellon had been searching for nearly two years ago. The source, the nest, this had to be it. This was the hell hole that the morloki had crawled from.

Bergil jerked Claire along as they ran. Morloki were popping up all around them and the young man dispatched them with his blade. All the while he also hung onto Claire's wrist. She tried to focus on keeping her footing as they ran along the rim of the ledge.

Suddenly a huge commotion rose amongst the morloki. Claire looked up to see Turion flying above the lattice of wooden spikes. His presence had apparently stirred them up. A rope fell from above and Bergil walked out on one of the rickety wooden scaffolds and grabbed a hold of it. The end had a loop tied in it. He pushed the rope into Claire's good hand.

"Get your foot in there," he said pointing to the loop. "Turion will pull you up."

"But what about you?" she cried.

"I'll be fine. Go!" he yelled.

Claire had her foot in the loop and a tight grip on the rope when Bergil pushed her off of the scaffold. She swung into the air with a cry as her weight pulled on the grip of the vanaloke above. She began to rise, slow at first and then faster. She missed striking the wooden spikes by mere inches as she rose between them. Claire dared to look down to see the terrible place set in the midst of a rocky mountain range. As she rose higher, she was surprised to see how close it was to the edge of the Misty Mountains and the Gap of Rohan.

She touched down in a patch of woods nearby. Turion landed quickly beside her and beckoned her to get out of sight. Turion gripped at the shackle still around Claire's ankle. The rusted metal was no match for his vanaloke strength and it snapped off easily. As the two of them crouched behind a large stone, Turion pointed to an oddly shaped door set into the side of the mountain.

"By the Grace of Illuvatar, he will come out there," the vanaloke said.

Before Claire could ask for clarification, Bergil burst from the door and ran towards them. His sword was gone and his arms pumped at his sides as he belted out of the cavern. "Run!" he yelled.

Claire and Turion obeyed. Though she was entirely exhausted, the thrill of escaping such a horrible death gave her new stamina. As the three of them sped through the trees, a horde of morloki on their tail, she found herself keeping pace with the young man and vanaloke.

It was when they broke out of the trees and the plain was before them that fatigue began to set in. The sky was open to them now and a cold rush of air seemed to blow up from the south. Claire's side began to ache. She looked back to see that the morloki had stopped chasing them.

"Please," she gasped. "Can we stop? They've...stopped."

Turion and Bergil came to a halt. Claire collapsed in the grass.

"They won't go out into open country," Turion said as he began to catch his breath. "Praise Eru for that."

Claire breathed hard. She wondered if she would ever catch her breath from such a harrowing experience. Bergil leaned down next to her.

"Are you alright? Did they hurt you," he asked.

Claire reached up and touched her head. She could feel the scabs forming underneath her frazzled hair. "They - they read my mind. They know who I am."

Tuiron spat. "Vile beasts. Cursed wretches."

"You're safe now," Bergil said. "When they took you last night we feared the worst. But then Turion found their cave and...well then I found you."

Turion leaned down and examined the places on Claire's head where the Shaman's claws had gone in. "What did they want with you," he asked.

"They wanted to know who I was," Claire said.

"Well there's no permanent damage done," the vanaloke said. "They didn't take your eyesight. That can happen if they drain you too much."

Claire rubbed her eyes and looked around. "Yeah, well I still have spots before my eyes. I see white specks all in my vision."

"It's not your vision," Bergil said slowly. "It's….snowing."

Claire squinted ahead of her. It was indeed snowing. Huge fluffy flakes were falling and accumulating on the earth around them. The cold wind continued to blow up from the south. It was December so snow was not too out of place. However, Claire, as well as her companions, knew that it seldom snowed this far south. Something was very very wrong.

Deep in the caverns of the morloki source, the Shaman staggered out of the cave and onto the rim of the chasm. She had thrust her arm into the fire to cauterize the wound and the ashen stump was still smouldering. Morloki gathered around her, bowing and muttering words of praise and reverence. One of their captains approached and took a knee before the Shaman.

"They have escaped into open country," he hissed. "I have failed you Shaman."

"No," she said. "We have not failed." An evil grin spread across her twisted visage. "Send word to the Master. Gorm methedyn draws near."


	18. The Lion in the Snow

**The Lion in the Snow**

There had been times in her life in Middle-earth when Claire had been miserable. Being wounded during the war had been depressing, dealing with drama with Prisca had been hard, and losing her hand had been psychologically scarring. Yet none of those times compared to now.

She walked slowly through the shin deep snow, her good hand bunched up inside the end of her coat sleeve. She had ripped a part of her blanket off to make a scarf which was now wrapped around her face. Her hood was pulled over her head to block the intense and biting wind. Her eyes, the only exposed part of her body, were aching in the oppressive cold. The snow whipped around her like a thousand tiny insects desperate to find a way inside the hood of her coat.

The three travelers had started their trek across the Gap of Rohan in the early morning. Turion wanted to get as far away from the Misty Mountains as they could before they made camp. As the day moved into afternoon, the steady snowfall began to increase. Soon all three of them were engulfed in a blindingly white blizzard that beat against them as they continued to travel south. Bergil was sure that the mountains on the other side of the gap were only a few miles ahead. But as they continued to navigate their way through the overwhelming cold, their spirits began to fall.

Claire tried to focus on walking; that alone was hard enough. She was exhausted in addition to being freezing cold. Her stump of an arm ached as she pulled it tight against her. Claire's head was bent low with the opening of her hood towards the ground. She would walk blind if it meant that she could be out of this miserable snow. Her mind felt numb. She just wanted this to be over. Why did she have to go through such hell on this trip? The last two trips had their high moments to make up for the hardship of adventure. So far the ents had been the only high point, but she could hardly remember the warm sunshine of Wellinghall now.

The young girl stumbled on her feet and stopped for a moment. Looking up into the blinding whiteness, she saw that Bergil and Turion where no longer in front of her. Claire spun around. On every side was nothing but white. The sky was so dense with cloud, that the direction of the sun was unobservable. She was in utter whiteness with no direction and no companions.

"Turion!" she yelled through her muffled scarf. "Bergil?" There was a faint answer, but with the sound of the rushing wind, it was impossible to discern where it came from.

"Where are you?" she screamed into the blizzard, but her voice seemed to be swallowed up by the howling gale.

Claire reached her breaking point. She collapsed to her knees, doubled over, and began to weep. She had never felt so utterly lost and hopeless in her entire life. She was going to freeze to death, alone. Her hot tears felt good for a moment, but then only made her face sting more in the biting cold.

"Why did you send me back here?" she yelled at the sky above. Her voice was shrill and broken with sobs as she screamed, "What is the point of any of this?"

She huddled on the ground and cried more. "I want to go home," she moaned. "I never wanted any of this. I...I…" Her heart ached as she realized how wrong she was. She had wanted adventure. From the very beginning she had been like Prisca, craving adventure but not really understanding the price one had to pay. Yet she had always thought that things worked out for the good guys. Bad things were always for a purpose right? Why was everything going so terribly wrong on this trip?

For some odd reason, that long ago Sunday School lesson came to her mind again.

_Ask and you shall receive._

The words settled in her mind and she heard the voice of Eru repeat them.

_Ask and you shall receive._

Then Claire realized her own stupidity. She hadn't talked to Eru in a very long while. She had assumed for some reason that without her realm jumping abilities, He wouldn't answer. Where had she gotten that idea?

"Help me!" she cried out. "Eru help me! I am lost!"

Claire looked out at the blinding whiteness before her. For a moment there was nothing but wind and cold.

Then she saw it. Slowly the snow began to swirl in place and a shape appeared out of the brightness. It stood amidst the drifts, golden and bright, its mane blowing in the wind. It was a lion and Claire knew as she stared at it with wide eyes, that it was _the_ Lion.

The Lion stared at Claire and all the questions and demands that she had concerning her misery melted away. Who was she to question Him? She felt small and weak and for a moment she thought she might sink into the snow and that would be the end of her.

The huge creature rose to its feet and turned. To her astonishment it began to walk away from her, deeper into the gathering blizzard.

"Wait," Claire cried in desperation. She stumbled to her feet and followed after Him, each step becoming more sure than the first. Then she couldn't see Him anymore, but now her feet were moving steadily. She was plodding forward, renewed energy in her limbs.

That was when she heard it.

"Claire! Claire! Where are you?"

The voice of Bergil was unmistakable. Claire gasped as the realization hit her. She had heard his voice before. The brightness, the blinding brightness that had left spots in her eyes, this was what she had seen in Galadriel's mirror all those years ago.

Suddenly he was in front of her and she fell forward into Bergil's embrace. He gripped her tight as he gasped, "We thought we'd lost you. How did you find us in this?"

"I - I followed," Claire said.

She raised her head and looked over Bergil's shoulder. There, not 20 feet away, stood the Lion. Turion was standing behind Bergil and seeing her gaze, the vanaloke turned as well. Claire pointed and said, "Follow Him."

"Follow who?" Turion asked.

They couldn't see Him. Claire pulled herself away from Bergil and began to follow the Lion who was again walking further into the bright whiteness of the snow storm.

"She's lost her mind," she heard Bergil say. "There's no way she has more sense of direction than we do. We will wander around in this deathly cold till we die if we don't stop and get our bearings."

Claire felt the young man grab her upper arm. She wrenched away from him and yelled over the howling winds, "You have to trust me. We have to follow Him." She knew she didn't make any sense to the other two, but she was past caring about anything but the Lion now. Bergil looked down at her with a concerned expression. Turion laid a hand on her shoulder and she reeled back from his touch.

"I'm not crazy," she said. "I know which way to go. Please just trust me!"

The two of them stared at her for a moment. At last Turion said, "I think we should trust her."

Claire spun on her heels and followed the Lion. Bergil and Turion came after her. It felt like they walked for hours. Sometimes the Lion would turn and go slightly to the left and Claire followed. Keeping her eyes focused on Him made the trek feel easier. Nothing had changed; the snow was still blinding and cold as it had been. But now, Claire had a goal.

Out of the whiteness a tree loomed. And then another. And then the mountains rose up before them. Soon they were in a forest and out of the wind altogether. The three of them sat down exhausted from their journey. The Lion had disappeared shortly before then and Claire's heart felt warm as she realized that He had led them out of the blizzard. They had been going a completely different direction and would still be wandering out there if she hadn't followed the Lion.

Claire felt ashamed when she thought about her attitude only hours before. Yet a twinge of hope was growing in her heart. The journey south was the last stretch to Minas Tirith. This would all be over soon, but now the prospect didn't fill her with the dread that it had before. They were drawing near to the conclusion, she could feel it. Something was waiting for her in Minas Tirith. Something that she now looked forward to.


	19. The Talisman

**The Talisman**

Several months had passed since Varin's interrogation of the morloke. His experiments had taken on a more private nature and most of the time the elf stayed in his workshop. Every once in awhile he would meet privately with Peregrin in the Citadel throne room to report his findings, but they were often of no consequence.

Prisca was growing restless. Ever on her mind were the words of the Owl.

"_There is a man who will burn all the worlds if he is not stopped. The Realm Jumpers call him the Aberrator...Two years from now, he will be in Minas Tirith. If you find him, this cuff will render him powerless. Beware of him, Prisca. He is unlike anyone you have ever dealt with." _

The day that the Owl spoke of was drawing very near and Prisca dutifully kept the mysterious cuff with her at all times. She was determined not to be caught off guard.

Another thing that weighed upon Prisca was what Losswen had uttered when her mind had become open to her forgotten past. Just remembering that moment when Morlyg had threatened the young woman made Prisca's stomach tighten.

"_A voice from the breech...Dark skies and snow and death...She stands ready. Run! Run!"_

Prisca had later asked Losswen who_ she_ was? The voice that the hobbit had heard from the "tear" had called for someone called Claire. She had hoped beyond hope that it might be Claeo returned from death, but when the question was put to Losswen, her answer was less than satisfactory.

"I can see her in my mind's eye," Losswen had said. "But I do not recognize her. She is... hidden from me."

There were so many unknowns that it made Prisca's head ache. Since the moment the Owl had stepped into the future, the hobbit girl had been counting the days. At first the urgency had been negligible. Yet with the arrival of Varin, the reality that the day was drawing near hung over Prisca like a dark cloud.

Neither she nor Laemellon trusted the elf. Shortly after his interrogation of the morloke, Laemellon had tried to approach Varin to inquire about the so called "corrupted calling stone." The elf had been extremely rude to her. He has said that she could not comprehend such things and refused to answer her questions. This raised Prisca and Laemellon's suspicions even more. Prisca had tried to arrange a meeting with Varin to speak to him about his research, but all her inquiries were dismissed.

As a preemptive measure, Prisca had then recruited Faron to do some detective work for her concerning Varin. Yet even with his help, that avenue came up dry.

"His credentials are true," the ranger had said. "Varin Gamarion is a noted elf who has visited Rivendell as well as Lothlorien. Everyone I spoke to vouched for him. His servant Alric is the same. I'm afraid they are both telling the truth about themselves."

And so finally February 25th dawned, the day before the Owl would supposedly arrive in Minas Tirith from out of the past. The day when supposedly the Abberator would be _in_ Minas Tirith. As Prisca went through the motions of that morning, she noted how much colder it felt. She had heard the reports that Rohan was experiencing strange snowfall. But they had been having strange weather for the past two years, so the temperature didn't seem as odd to her as it should have.

A few hours after noon, Prisca went for a walk and found Laemellon on the vast pier, the large outcropping of stone that jutted out from the city and overlooked the Pellennor. The vanaloke sat on a bench looking out at the distant mountains of what had once been Mordor. Prisca sat down next to her.

"I remember when those mountains were the most terrifying thing this city had ever seen," the vanaloke said. "Now I suppose the danger comes from quite the opposite direction. It makes you wonder if troubles will ever come to an end doesn't it?"

"Indeed it does," the hobbit sighed.

Laemellon sat in silence for a moment. At last she said, "You know...when I was on the Island, I wanted nothing more than to stay. The idea of leaving home was a burden that I didn't want to bear. And now...the thought of going back is a burden to me."

Prisca turned to look up at her friend as the vanaloke said, "After Claeo left the first time years ago, I could have gone back. But then the morloki showed themselves and I knew I could not leave without knowing more. And now my task is here in this city. Part of me never wants the trouble with the morloki to end, but I know that is a bad wish to make. Yet when this is over…"

"You have to go back to the Island," Prisca finished.

The vanaloke nodded. "I am heir to the throne of my people. The next in line would be my brother."

Prisca looked up at Laemellon in utter astonishment. "You never mentioned you had a brother," she said. "Why have you never spoken of him before?"

Laemellon sighed deep. "I have tried not to think of my home too much over the past 7 years. I suppose for a while I gave up any prospect of ever going back. I tried to forget my past."

"Well you may not have to wait long if Varin is successful," Prisca said. She was trying to be encouraging, but her voice couldn't hide the doubt in her heart.

"I don't trust him," Laemellon said flatly. "Something about that talisman of his isn't right."

"I had Faron check his story," Prisca said. "Turns out he is who he says he is. Alric too." The hobbit absentmindedly reached for the cuff that was hung on her belt. "Perhaps Peregrin was right all along and I am actually too paranoid."

Laemellon laid a hand on Prisca's shoulder. "I don't think so. As I said at the beginning of this, you are very perceptive. Their story may check out, but that doesn't mean there isn't something still amiss with those two."

"When this is over," Prisca said, changing the subject. "And if you...when you go back, will you be able to return? I mean to visit?"

"I don't know," Laemellon said. "I was the only one allowed to leave and that was on a special assignment."

Prisca's heart ached. Laemellon was her closest companion. The two had looked after each other through all that had gone on in the past two years. The vanlaoke who had despised her so much at the beginning, had been the first to comfort Prisca after the death of Claeo. Prisca thought back to that day and how heartbroken she had been. She would never have made it without Laemellon.

The hobbit stood and faced her vanaloke friend. She took Laemellon's large leathery hand in her small hobbit hands and said, "I want you to know that even if you cannot return, I - I think you should still go home. Your people need you more than I do. I love you dearly Laemellon, but I will support whatever decision you make."

The vanaloke cupped the hobbit's small face in her hands. "Dear Prisca," she said. "You are like the little sister that I never had. You have taught me so much. Thank you."

The two embraced. When they came apart, Laemellon stood up and stretched her wings.

"I think I'll have a quick fly around and patrol the city a bit," she said. Prisca bade her farewell and the vanaloke soared up into the air and out of sight. As the hobbit watched her go, she wondered what life without Laemellon would be like. If there was no more conflict in the city, then she and Peregrin could finally go home. It would be good to see her parents again after all these years.

Prisca took a deep breath of the cold mountain air. "I suppose Peregrin was right," she thought to herself. "Tomorrow is the supposed 'day of doom' and nothing has happened. I guess the Owl was not to be trusted after all."

* * *

Lying to Prisca was the last thing Laemellon wanted to do. She had begun her patrol like she had said, but soon deviated from her course. Ducking inside a forgotten ally, she removed the uniform of the city that she wore over her vanaloke traveling clothes. When she had sworn her service to the city and its ordinances, she had taken an oath not to use her power of invisibility unless authorized by the King or his steward. Now she was about to break that oath.

After hiding her uniform in an alley, Laemellon cloaked herself completely. As she blended in to the stones around her, she began to crawl up the side and onto the roof of a nearby house. She very gently flapped into the air so as not to make any noise. The people of the city had grown accustomed to seeing her in their midst uncloaked and visible. Now flying invisibly above their heads, she felt a bit dishonest.

At last she reached her destination. As she touched down on the balcony of Varin's workshop, Laemellon was careful to land silently without her large claws clicking the stones. She had overheard a few servants talking the day before about how Varin was due to meet with Lord Peregrin on this day and at this hour. This absence would be the perfect time to investigate.

Laemellon walked cautiously around the workshop. No one save Varin and Alric had been up here since the day of the interrogation. Papers and notes were everywhere, but nothing really caught her eye. She wasn't here to investigate Varin's research. She had only one thing in mind.

On a nearby desk was the talisman. The circle of gold shone in the dim light of the workshop as Laemellon approached. She picked it up and examined the purple stone set into the center of it. Varin had said that it was a corrupted calling stone, but Laemellon knew that was false. If this was indeed a calling stone, she would be able to tell by touching it.

With the talisman in her right hand, she very gently lifted her left pointer finger and placed it on the stone. She shut her eyes and concentrated, opening her mind to whatever the gem could tell her.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened.

She blinked. Examining the circle of gold, she found a fine seam in its design. She pried her sharp fingernails into the groove and the circle of gold popped open. The purple gem fell out onto the table. She placed it in the palm of her hand and gripped it tight. Still nothing.

Laemellon walked to the balcony and held the stone up to the hazy light from the overcast sky. The gemstone was completely see-through. Examining it closely, she realized the astounding truth.

"This isn't a gem," she said out loud to herself. "This is dyed glass…"

She turned back towards the workshop and stopped. A figure stood before her. Over its face was a hideous mask like nothing she had ever seen. In its hand was a long tall staff that was carved in a very strange and ornate way. It looked like it had been built of several mishmashed pieces.

Laemellon was rendered speechless. She didn't know what to make of any of this. Her last thought before the figure's staff struck her and stabbing pain shot through her body, was that she wished she could have told Prisca that she was right.

* * *

The masked figure lowered its staff. The transformation had been almost instantaneous. He had seen pain on the vanaloke's face before it was done. Apparently being turned to stone hurt tremendously.

The statue that had been Laemellon crackled for a moment, the last vestiges of flesh petrifying into granite. Then, as casually as opening a mailbox, the masked figure placed his hand on the stone vanaloke's shoulder and pushed her over the balcony. The wooden railing snapped under the weight. There would be evidence, but that didn't matter now. He watched as she tumbled, end over end.

The statue hit the ground with a loud smash and broke into a hundred pieces.

* * *

It had been a about a half hour since Alric had seen his master. Varin had been meeting with Peregrin in the Citadel throne room, but had stepped out for a moment. As the young man searched for him, he stopped by the workshop.

Alric immediately saw the broken rail. What could have caused such a thing? Running to the edge, he looked down. He covered his mouth in horror at what he saw. He had to tell someone. Something terrible had just happened.


	20. Letter 6

**Letter #6**

Dear Brother,

I have decided to give up my pursuit of crafting gems. I have a new endeavour that I think you will find very interesting. You mentioned in your previous letter how you thought that even if other worlds might exist, no one could ever get there. Well that may all change very soon. I have been inquiring of the Nolmirë very specifically of late. The things I have learned are terribly complicated but not incomprehensible. I am working on a way to create a sort of doorway, a portal if you will, to one of these other worlds. Just to go there and experience it would be incredible if not extremely useful.

Think of it! If the enemy rises again as you suspect he will, we might be able to enlist help from other lands. If what I am doing works, we could one day travel to other lands and call on them for aid. You must admit that the Valar have not been seen in Middle-earth for many hundreds of years. We are on our own in the wide world. This could be what saves us from further darkness.

You should know that Melda is on your side. She doesn't like the Nolmirë very much. She jokes that I spend more time talking to it than I do to her. That is ridiculous of course. I love Melda more than any knowledge or power that could ever be reached. She is my world. Our child has not yet arrived. She is due to give birth a few months from now. We are thinking of naming the little one after you if it is a boy. We haven't settled on a girl's name yet, but there is still time.

I shall write to you if I make any progress. It was good to hear your report from Eregion. I shall have to come visit and see the wonders you have helped to build there. Take care brother.

Yours,

G


	21. The Sign of the Door

**The Sign of the Door**

The journey along the north-south road had been easier but considerably colder. The snow on the plains was thick and Turion, Bergil, and Claire tried their best to stay close to the mountains. They stopped in a few villages here and there for a hot meal and a warm place to sleep, but even the people of Rohan were not prepared for weather like this. As they drew closer to the city, the snow began to wane, yet Claire couldn't help feeling that the blizzard was following them somehow.

At last on the 25th of February the city of Minas Tirith was in sight. Under the gloomy overcast sky it looked dull and lifeless. The only thing between them and the city was the northern forest located where the mountains met the outer wall. They were almost there and the three travelers began to pick up their pace with anticipation.

As Claire walked beneath the pine trees around them, a sound caught her ear. It was a sort of tapping, but it wasn't fast or distinct like a woodpecker. She stopped and looked around. The forest was silent.

Turion and Bergil noticed her lagging behind and stopped as well.

"What is it," Bergil asked.

"I thought I heard something," Claire said.

The three stood dead still.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"There," Claire said. "Do you hear that?"

Turion sniffed the air. "Its coming from up in that tree over there." He pointed and all eyes turned to the nearby pine. Claire approached it cautiously and then…

A bird burst from the branches and flew at her. She yelped in surprise and fell backwards onto the forest floor. Snow was just beginning to fall now and she sputtered on the ground as the soft flakes fell in her eyes and mouth. The bird flew around them a few times until it landed on a nearby stump.

Bergil nearly doubled over with laughter. "It's just a bird," he chuckled. "Did you think it was an orc or another dragon?"

The young man reached down and helped Claire to her feet. "Of course not," she retorted. "It just startled me, that's all."

As Claire began to brush the snow and leaves off of her coat, she noticed the bird sitting on the stump. It had something in its beak.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Claire froze. The thing in its beak was a snail.

Bergil came and stood beside her. "Are you alright?"

The bird was coal black with a bright yellow breast speckled with black spots.

"Claire?"

"It's a thrush," Claire said at last.

"Yes it is," Bergil said. He was getting a bit annoyed that she was holding up their last leg of the trip for a bird. "Is that a problem?"

Claire was transfixed. Turion walked up beside them and looked on. At last, as if she were in a trance, Claire began to recite.

"Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's day will shine upon the key-hole."

The reality of what was happening was crashing in on Claire and she didn't know whether to be amazed or excited.

"The sign of the hidden door," she whispered.

The thrush leapt up and flew to a nearby branch. It hopped from one perch to another like it was waiting for something. At last Claire understood. It was waiting for her. She had followed the brother but now this was her next objective laid down by Yavanna.

"Come on, Claire," Bergil said. "It's just a bird. The walls of the city are just a head. Let's go."

"I'm sorry," she said solemnly. Claire turned to face Bergil and Turion. "But this is where we part ways."

Bergil's face drew tight with confusion. "What? Why?"

"I cannot say. You just have to trust me."

The young man shook his head. "Now that's not fair. We have gone with you all this way and protected you, rescued you even. And now you leave before we even get to the city?"

The young man's voice had risen to a shout and Turion put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. "She has her own path," the vanaloke said. "We need to trust her."

"Oh so now you take her side," Bergil retorted. "Even you have to see what this is. We helped her make it all this way and now she is just going to leave." Bergil turned back to Claire and said, "Is that all we are to you? A couple of bodyguards to escort you to Minas Tirith?"

"Of course not!" Claire said in a sterner tone. "I'm sorry you feel used Bergil, but as I told you in Fangorn, I'm on a secret mission. And here is where I have to go on alone."

Claire could tell that Bergil was frustrated beyond words. The young man composed himself. He leaned in and got face to face with her as he said in a calmer manner, " Look, I'll be honest with you Claire. I understand your mission and everything. If you have to go on then fine. Just...before you go, please...tell me who you are. That's all I want to know."

Claire looked up into his large brown pleading eyes and wished that she could tell him everything. In a way he was right. She had used them to get to Minas Tirith and she owed them more.

He saw the regret in her eyes and said, "I won't tell anyone who you are. I swear!"

Her silence was answer enough for Bergil. He frowned. "Fine," he said flatly. Bergil turned and began walking down the path towards Minas Tirith.

"Are you sure you will be fine on your own?" Turion asked as he stood by Claire's side.

"I think so," Claire said. "Thank you Turion. And thank you for trusting me."

The vanaloke tilted his head politely. "It has been a pleasure."

As he began to walk after Bergil, Claire called after the vanaloke.

"Turion," she said. "Don't enter by the city gate."

The vanaloke looked like he was going to ask why, but then he simply nodded in acknowledgement. With a sweep of his tail, the vanaloke turned and walked deeper into the wood. Soon both he and Bergil were out of sight.

Claire glanced back at the thrush. It adjusted its grip on the snail and then took flight. Claire followed after it, her footsteps now leaving prints in the light layer of snow. As she weaved back and forth between the trees, she was always able to keep an eye on the thrush. She was sure of it now; it wanted her to follow. As she continued to run, the snow increased drastically. Nearly two inches deep now, the wind began to pick up, blowing the snow around Claire as she continued to keep her eyes on the bird. At last the thrush drew near to a rocky wall at the foot of the mountain. It perched on a high stone ledge and began knocking the snail again. As it did, the wind began to die down and Claire was able to make out what was in front of her.

She had read _The Hobbit_ enough to recognized the right circumstances for a hidden door. The rock wall was plain and no key hole was in sight. Claire drew close and examined the surface. There were strange little bits of rock sticking out from the door here and there. Snow had settled on each of the stone extensions, and the fresh white against the dark stone made out some sort of text. She was amazed at this and wondered how on earth anyone would have ever known that such random bits of stone would make a message. It was obviously elvish and of course; she couldn't read or understand it.

_I can read it for you, _Eru said in her mind. "_Two doors, two trees, two houses. The perfect words from the first book are the key. The Venë Faeur shall enter."_

"Thank you," Claire said. She spoke the words out loud to herself as she ran them over and over again in her mind.

"Ok," Claire said. "The thrush was 'the sign of the hidden door'. So this is a door; a hidden door like the dwarves used to make. Like the door to Moria. It needs a password." Claire pulled a face as she realized the regretful truth. "Oh crap… this is some kind of riddle isn't it?" Claire rubbed her head in frustration. She was terrible at riddles.

"Two doors, two trees, two houses," she mused. "Two. Two. Two things. Two choices. Two…"

Then that old memory came back. That Sunday School lesson so long ago.

"OH!" she cried, nearly jumping in excitement. Her voice echoed against the rock and disturbed a nearby nest of squirrels who chittered and scurried away.

"Of course. Perfect words! The number of perfection is 7. The two choices in Matthew are a clue as to what book... and the perfect verse 7:7. Matthew 7:7."

She stepped up closer to the stone. Claire wasn't sure what the protocol was here, but she figured it didn't really matter. She began to recite.

"'Ask and it will be given to you. Seek and you will find. Knock and it will be open to you.'"

At first nothing happened. Then the obvious occurred to her. She raised her left hand and knocked on the stone wall.

There was a distant grinding sound as a seam began to appear in the rock before her. She stepped back as the huge stone door swung wide. Claire found herself peering into utter darkness. Just inside the door was an old and dusty torch set into a hook on the wall. She pulled out her flint and steel and, after a few attempts, lit it. It burned well and she held it out into the darkness ahead of her. It was a long tunnel that disappeared into darkness.

Claire paused before entering. It wasn't wise to enter strange dark caves without any weapons or idea of where she was going. This was the perfect recipe to get killed by some creature or wander around in the darkness until she starved. But the clue from the door and the comforting voice of Eru was enough to bolster her courage.

Claire entered the hidden passage behind Minas Tirith and a few moments later the stone door swung shut, never to be opened again.


	22. The Conspiracy

**The Conspiracy**

Prisca's hands were shaking as she beheld the broken statue. When Alric had found her and frantically told her that something terrible had happened, she had no idea what to expect. She had implored him to tell her what was the matter, but now she knew why he had not told her outright. Nothing could have prepared her for this.

In the garden far below the balcony of Varin's workshop, the remains of the statue that had once been Laemellon were strewn about. Her head was still intact, lying in the very center of the broken pieces. Her silver headpiece had been turned to stone as well and the vanaloke's expression was one of shock.

"This...this can't be real. It's…" Prisca was going to say "It's just a statue" but the longer she looked at the stone pieces, the more she knew that wasn't true. It _was_ her friend. And what was left of her was ground to peices at Prisca's feet. The hobbit fell to her knees as tears began to flow down her cheeks. There was a tightness in her chest that felt like it might burst.

"No," she whispered as she gingerly touched the stone head on the ground in front of her. She drew back her hand and clamped it over her mouth. Prisca sobbed bitterly, but no amount of crying released the pain and grief that gripped her. Alric stood by her side as she mourned.

"I'm afraid I know who has done this," he said solemnly.

Prisca spun around and looked up at him. His kind eyes were downcast as he held up the strangely carved staff that he had pointed out to her months ago. Seeing it closer, Prisca observed that its head contained a single long teal gemstone.

"I found this in Varin's workshop after I left," Alric continued. "I think this is what he used to...to do it." He paused as shame spread over his face. "He told me about what it could do, but I never thought… He told me he didn't know how to unlock its power. I am so sorry."

The hobbit was on her hands and knees now, her fingers pulled tight into the earth. Through bleary eyes, she saw something shining amongst the broken stones. She wiped her eyes and looked closer. There, still clutched in Laemellon's hand, was the purple so-called corrupted calling stone. The very stone from Varin's talasman. That was all the evidence she needed. The soil around them began to rumble as Prisca said through gritted teeth, "He will pay for this."

Alric backed away. He could feel the energy emanating from the hobbit girl like heat from an oven. She was angry, and not only that, she was one of the most powerful beings in Middle-earth. She could snap a neck at 50 paces with her mind and now she was contemplating just that.

Prisca stood up and turned to Alric. He gripped the staff awkwardly as she stared at him with glowing hot eyes. The hobbit's tiny voice seemed like a weight upon the very air between them.

"Where is Varin?"

* * *

It was about five o'clock and it had just begun to snow when the doors to the throne room burst open. Varin and Pergrin had been in deep discussion about the possible chain of command within the ranks of the Morloki. Faron the ranger stood guard nearby.

Prisca strode forward with quick deliberate steps as Alric shuffled behind her carrying the strange staff.

"Prisca what are you…?" Peregrin started to say.

The girl's hand flew up and Varin was flung backwards onto the floor.

"Prisca!" Peregrin yelled. "What are you doing?"

"He's him, Peregrin," the hobbit girl said with a quavering voice. "Varin is the Abberator. The one the Owl warned me about."

The elder hobbit stepped between Prisca and the elf as Varin pulled himself from the floor.

"I don't understand," the elf said in utter bewilderment. "Who is this Abberator?"

"You know good and well," Prisca yelled. "Don't you dare deny it."

"Prisca calm down," Peregrin pleaded.

"Laemellon is dead," she said. Silence fell. You could have heard a pin drop.

Peregrin's voice was shaky as he at last said, "What - what are you talking about?"

Alric stepped forward. "She was turned to stone and pushed off of a balcony. This was what did it." He held up the staff as evidence. The young man looked at Varin gravely and said, "It's a staff that was said to turn anything into stone. But you said you didn't know how to use it. Did you turn the vanaloke into stone?"

"Of course not!" Varin exclaimed. He looked very uncomfortable as he said, "I've never seen that staff in all my life!"

Shock spread across Alric's face. "How can you say that," he asked incredulously. "This has been in your workshop from the beginning."

"It has not! This is all a terrible misunderstanding."

"The corrupted calling stone from _your_ talisman was still in her hand when we found her," Prisca said as she pointed her finger at the elf. "Where were you during the past 3 hours?"

Varin sputtered incredulously before finally saying, "Well, I was here with the Lord Peregrin. But what's this about the talisman?"

Peregrin turned and looked up at the elf. The hobbit began to back away as he said slowly, "You were gone for one of those hours, Varin. Where were you?"

"Does it matter?" the elf said.

"It certainly does," Peregrin said. Prisca came and stood beside her cousin as she unclasped the cuff from her belt.

"I was on my way to the workshop," the elf said. "I went to get those maps that we were needing. But I didn't see Laemellon or that staff. Everything was quite normal."

"What about the balcony?" Alric asked. The young man was beginning to circle his master, the staff held up defensively. "Did you notice that the balcony was broken?"

Varin's expression hardened. Anger was building in his demeanour, Prisca could sense it. "This is ridiculous!" he said as he began to step away from them. Faron came forward from where he had been standing guard and blocked his path. Varin's other avenue of escape was blocked by his former apprentice. The elf turned to face Peregrin and Prisca.

"These accusations are absurd. I -"

"Varin Gamarion," Prisca said as she held up the cuff. "By the authority bestowed upon me by the King and by my authority as a realm jumper of Eru, I place you under arrest. Faron grab his wrist."

The ranger stepped forward and seized the elf by the arm. Varin struggled, but the ranger was stronger than he was.

"Arrested under what charge," the elf demanded.

"We have reason to believe that you are the Abberator," Prisca said. Of course the evidence didn't say that explicitly. But the death of Laemellon on the day the Owl predicted couldn't be a coincidence could it?

"You possess magical relics," Prisca added. "Unexplained relics by which you murdered Laemellon."

Prisca slapped the cuff on the elf's wrist and clicked it closed. Faron stepped back as the elf froze in place, his eyebrows still drawn tight in anger. He was frozen in time unable to move or cause any further harm.

"When the Owl arrives she will know what to do with him," Prisca said. She felt like she was finally able to breathe. Peregrin stood next to her, still in shock of what had happened.

"I can't believe he deceived us like that," Peregrin said. "We will-"

There was a sharp crackling sound as the incapacitated elf suddenly began to change. In a matter of seconds a grey color spread over him and Peregrin and Prisca looked up to see that he had been turned to stone. Behind him stood Alric, the staff in his hands held out to point at his former master. The long teal gemstone set into the end of the shaft was still glowing.

"Alric!" Pergrin exclaimed. "What have you done?"

"I don't need him anymore," the young man said solemnly.

"That may be so," Peregrin said. "But that doesn't constitute murder!" The hobbit stepped forward and put out his hand. "Give me the staff Alric. It's too dangerous for anyone to wield." When the young man hesitated, Peregrin added, "By my authority as Steward of this city, I order you to hand it over."

The young man scratched at his mop of hair and stared at the hobbit in front of him.

"I don't think I will," he said.

Peregrin gawked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You will obey his command," Faron said sternly. Arlic turned his head slowly to look at the man. Suddenly a shadow moved in the pillared area behind the Ranger. Prisca opened her mouth to shout when she recognized the distinct shape of a morloke.

It happened so fast, there was not time to respond. The morloke came behind Faron and five long blades suddenly protruded from the man's chest. His eyes widened in shock, blinked, and then rolled back into his head. Faron's body fell to the floor with a thump at the feet of the beast that killed him.

Peregrin cried out in shock and began to run forward, but Prisca grabbed his arm and held him back. This was all beginning to make sense.

The morloke stepped into the light. He had a very distinct scar across his snout that ran up and over one eye. Unlike the other morloki, this one carried himself in a manner of authority. He was also very large with strong arms and a thicker neck than most.

Alric gave the morloke a polite nod and said, "Thank you, Armus. You may signal the others." The morloke bowed, gave a cold glance at Peregrin and Prisca, and then left the throneroom.

Prisca's eyes grew wide as she began to understand. The reality of the mistake they had made came flooding in upon her as Alric turned back to her and Peregrin. Both hobbits stood gaping as they tried to process what they had seen.

Then without warning, Alric raised the staff above his head and swung it like a baseball bat. It came down upon the statue that had once been his former master. Varin, along with the cuff on his wrist, shattered into hundreds of pieces.

Prisca glared up at Alric with narrowed eyes.

"You're the Abberator," she said in a deep trembling voice.

Alric smiled. It wasn't a look of triumph or gloating. He almost looked proud of her. Looking at him now, he seemed older. His demeanor had changed completely. He leaned on the staff and as carefree as one might order ice cream he said, "Yes. I'm the one the Owl warned you about. And I also killed your vanaloke friend."

Alric looked down at her and said condesendingly, "Does that make you angry Prisca? Are you going to snap my neck like you did with those morloki on the day I arrived? Go ahead. Try it."

"This whole time," Peregrin whispered as he found his voice. "You were working with them. You were working with the morloki. I trusted you!" The hobbit's face twisted in anger as his gaze shifted to Faron's body. "You will pay for this," Peregrin spat.

Prisca's eyes glowed hot now. Using _the sight_, the man in front of her had a dark aura about him like nothing Prisca had ever seen before. It was Alric she had been sensing all this time. She had every right to kill him. He was now responsible for the death of two people. Indeed if his objective was truly to "burn all the worlds" like the Owl had said then she would be justified. That was enough for her.

She extended a hand and willed his neck to snap.

Stabbing pain shot up through her own neck. Prisca cried out and fell forward. She gasped for air as she looked up at the man in standing before her.

"Hurts doesn't it?" Alric said. "I would love to explain it all to you, but that would be pointless since you will both be dead in a few moments."

Peregrin stepped between Alric and Prisca. The man raised the staff above his head as the older hobbit screamed, "Prisca get out of here!"

The end of the staff struck the floor and a shockwave of energy shot outwards in a flash of light. Prisca jumped up and hung in mid-air, instinctively recoiling from whatever was happening. She threw her hands over her face as the blinding light swept past her and out over the levels of the city below.

When it was over, she lowered her hands and slowly descended back to the floor. Before her stood her cousin, the expression of concern still spread across his face, his hand outstretched toward her, lines of pain creasing his wide eyes. But Peregrin's bright green eyes were now dull grey granite. Prisca reached up and touched his cheek. It was cold and rough. Peregrin had been turned to stone.

Prisca's gaze shifted to the Alric. The man looked triumphant now, though a little annoyed that she was not a statue as well.

"Now to finish the job," he said. He held the staff out and the end began to glow. Prisca darted to the side as a blast of energy shot past her. The projectile struck a nearby wall and grey stone spread across it like a splotch of ink. Prisca flew up into the corner of the throne room's ceiling. She put her hand out in front of her, attempting to push the man backwards with her mind. As she did this, she found herself pressed against the wall with the same amount of force that she exerted. Yet this time she noticed that Alric was bracing himself against her power. Somehow whatever she did to him was also done to her.

It was then that she knew she had to escape. With all her might, she drew on Eru's power and the wall behind her exploded in a shower of wood and masonry. She flew upwards as fast as she could. Prisca nearly lost her bearing as she was met with a blast of cold and a stinging spray of snow.

The grey light of dusk was just beginning to fade. Night would come soon. She had to get away from the city. She had to find help from someone. But who besides her could even begin to match Alric's power?

White hot pain struck Prisca's shoulder. For a moment, she thought she had been hit with an arrow, but when she reached for the wound there was nothing there. Seconds later a sharp boom sounded below her as she began to spin. Blood was pouring from a wound above her arm. She was dizzy with pain and panic. As she fell, she wondered how everything could have gone so terribly wrong.

"I'm sorry Eru," she said in her mind. "I failed You."

Prisca lost consciousness before her body hit the ground.


	23. The Test

**The Test**

As Bergil and Turion reached the gate of Minas Tirith, the snow was beginning to accumulate on the city walls. After parting ways with Claire, Bergil was back to his old silent taciturn self and Turion wasn't liking it.

"But Claire said we shouldn't enter by the gate," the vanaloke implored. "We should go another way."

"I don't care what Claire said," Bergil retorted. "She's not here. She doesn't get a say in what we do."

"That may be true, but she has never meant us ill will. I think she has a perception that we cannot comprehend."

"Spare me your assumptions, Turion," Bergil said as they approached the huge open doors of the City.

It was nearly 5 o'clock and the last few travelers were entering the gate before nightfall. The door warden stood under the archway as they walked up. He looked surprised at the sight of Turion, yet not as much shock as one might think. Laemellon had become well known in Minas Tirith.

"Good evening," the Warden said. "And who are you?"

"I'm Bergil son of Beregond," Bergil said. "This is my companion, Turion. He is brother to Laemellon of the house of Arramar. We are seeking entrance to the city."

The Warden opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off by a cry of alarm from behind him. All eyes were looking up and towards the Citadel. A bright light had flashed and was lingering...no, spreading over the city. A cry of alarm went up as people watched it flow over the seven levels like water down a tiered fountain.

Bergil who was standing beneath the arch looked on as the light came rushing towards him. Strong hands gripped his shoulders and yanked him back. Turion and Bergil fell backwards and out of the city gates. The wave of light broke upon the outerwall and stopped just beneath the arch.

As the young man rubbed the spots from his eyes, he glanced back at the door Warden.

"What was that," he asked. The Warden didn't respond. Bergil walked forward. "I say Warden...what is going on?"

Bergil gasped when he saw the man's face. He was frozen, pain spread across his features. Glancing past the Warden, the young man and the vanaloke saw that the people in the courtyard were the same. They had all been turned to stone.

Turion grabbed Bergil's arm to pull him away from the statue of the Warden. The young man didn't protest. He was still reeling from the shock.

"Still want to go in by the gate?" the vanaloke asked. "I suggest we find another way."

* * *

The problem with being underground was that you lost all track of time. Claire walked down the narrow tunnel for what seemed like hours. If she had taken a guess, she would have supposed that she had walked several miles. Nothing but darkness ahead and darkness behind and yet still she pressed forward, the light of her torch the only thing showing her the way.

At last she came to a fork in the tunnel. There were two passages, one a bit wider than the other. The narrower passage didn't look as inviting and for a moment, Clarie almost took the wider passage.

_Difficult is the way that leads to life._

The memory stopped her in her tracks. This cave/tunnel had been opened with a sort of riddle involving that part of the Bible. This had to be another clue for which way to take. Though she didn't like it, she took the narrow way and the darkness seemed to press around her even more. Claustrophobia was creeping into her mind as the stone walls brushed her shoulders and her breathing became shallow.

Just when she thought her sanity was about to break, the tunnel opened up into a wide chamber. The ceiling was so far above that the torch light couldn't reach it. Instead of narrow darkness, now Claire found herself standing before immeasurable emptiness. She took a few steps forward but then noticed that the floor was made of a different material. It wasn't stone or sand. It was shiny and black like hardened tar or volcanic glass. She glanced down at the reflection of the torch shining on the floor. But there was another light source reflected in the smooth surface. A light far in the distance. Claire looked up and gazed ahead.

Then she saw Him. The Lion was standing on the other side of the chamber, bright and golden against the inky blackness.

"_Do you trust me?_" Claire heard Him say.

She had no reason not to. He had helped her get this far. "Yes," she said.

"_Then follow me."_

Claire began to walk forward. Her steps on the hard black surface echoed in the huge chamber. She couldn't help wondering if this was the "test" Yavanna had spoken of. A hidden door beneath Minas Tirith with her name on it had been strange enough. She tried to understand what Eru was leading her to. What was it all for?

She was about halfway across the chamber when her foot caught on something. She looked down and found that her right foot had sunk into the dark substance. She couldn't grab at it without putting down the torch down and for the first few seconds of panic, she pulled as hard as she could.

"_Do you trust me?"_

The panic rising in her chest was quelled for a moment. She took a few deep breaths.

"Yes. I do. But please help me. I'm stuck!"

Her leg was drawn in more and she gasped in fear.

"No! What is this? Something is pulling me down." She looked back at the Lion on the other side of the chamber. He stood still and didn't move.

"Help me!" she cried as her other leg began to sink as well. This was nothing like being grabbed by those tree roots in Fangorn. This was something stronger, something more sinister. The smooth surface has turned into a thick tar-like substance that was tight and irresistable. Her limbs were being constricted painfully as they were pulled beneath the surface.

"_Do you trust me?"_

Claire dropped the torch as her legs were completely drawn under. The torch clattered on the hard surface. Apparently only she was sinking. She reached for the Lion as tears began to fall down her cheeks. Why was He just standing there? If this was a test, then what was she supposed to do? What more could she do than cry for His help?

Her waist was being drawn under as she began to hyperventilate. Of all the troubles and terrors she had been through, nothing had been like this. Yes, she trusted Him. But she had always trusted Him to rescue her. Now that wasn't happening.

"What are you doing?" she cried. "Why won't you help me?"

"_I am in control of all things, Claire. Do you trust me?_

Claire's eyes widened as whatever was enveloping her reached her chest. She began to gasp for air.

"It hurts!" she yelled.

"_Do you trust me?"_

The darkness reached her shoulders. She gasped in a last lung-full of air as her head was pulled beneath the thick blackness.

Crushing darkness pressed in upon Claire. She felt like she couldn't breath and her lungs felt like they would burst inside her chest at any minute. Yet minutes passed and she was still conscious. Would she be stuck like this forever? Caught in an eternal crushing darkness of pain and oblivion? It felt like she was encased in cold constricting sludge that threatened to pour down her throat if she opened her mouth. The fear that was already growing in her chest increased and her heart felt like a drum pounding in her ears that would never stop. She wanted to die. She wanted anything that would make it stop.

"_Do you trust me?"_

Even in this hell, He was still there. The pounding in her chest didn't cease and the crushing pain around her didn't waver, and yet knowing He was there gave her a small sensation of comfort.

_It's not the circumstances you face that define you...it is what you choose to do with them that shows who you really are._

It had been easy to trust Eru when things were going well. It was even manageable to trust Him when things went bad but soon turned around. Yet now she was doomed. Trapped in a possibly unending situation. He hadn't saved her. She was lost. Things were very bad.

And suddenly it clicked.

"I trust You," Claire said in her mind. "Even in this, I trust You." It went against everything that Claire felt. This was a battle of mind over matter and she was pushing back. Even in this, she chose to believe; she chose to trust. This was not a test of physical ability or stamina. She had no power over anything. This as a test of her mind and soul. It didn't take much to have faith in Eru when she could see her deliverance coming in the distance. True hope was the unseen kind. Yet it was stronger than anything she had ever experienced.

"_Then follow me."_

Something was happening. Claire could feel her limbs again. Suddenly her head broke from beneath the darkness, but there was no gasping or sputtering. She breathed deep as she continued to rise. Her torch had gone out, but now there was a new light. It was bright and glowed with a bluish tint. She looked down at herself and saw that it was _her_ that was glowing. From head to toe, her body was bright with blue flame.

Yet Claire's eyes were focused on something else now. The Lion, golden and bright, looked even more awesome and majestic. Claire began to take long purposeful strides towards him. As she walked, the light grew brighter. She felt like her very blood was electrified somehow. Her head felt light and her body untethered. Claire's heart leapt with excitement as she recognized this sensation. Her Realm Jumping abilities were back.

She was just feet from the Lion now. He was so much bigger than she ever imagined. His eyes burned like golden fire as He looked down at her. Claire was still standing on the surface of the black substance when she stopped.

"_Do you understand, dear one?"_

"I think so," Claire said. "Have I passed the test?"

The Lion gave a slow solemn nod. Claire's face became suddenly flushed with heat. She reached up and felt the left side of her face. Her hand trembled as she touched three distinct ridges along her cheek.

They were the scars from the wound that had killed her.

Then she realized something else. She was touching her cheek...with her right hand.

Claire gasped as she looked at the new appendage. Tears began to flow down her face.

"Thank you," she sobbed.

"_Evil will always steal and destroy,"_ the Lion said. _"But I can restore what has been lost."_

When Claire had finished celebrating the return of her hand, she asked, "What happens now? I don't know what I'm supposed to do after this."

The Lion bent his head toward her and, to Claire's surprise, he breathed on her. His breath was warm, like the first breeze of summer. "For your protection," the Lion said.

Then he stepped aside and on the stony ground ahead, Claire saw another tunnel, yet this one had a faint light at the end.

"_You have trusted me in the midst of great darkness,"_ the Lion said. _"Yet the greater trial is yet to come. Remember what you have learned here and take courage even in the face of death."_

Claire stepped from the darkness and as her feet touched stone, the flame that enveloped her went out. She was standing alone with only the dim light from the tunnel ahead to see by. For a moment she stood blinking in amazement. Had it all been some kind of vision? She held up her new right hand and willed for it to ignite. Blue flame enveloped her fingers. She smiled. It was no dream. She was back.

* * *

On the northern rim of the city, Turion glided above the outerwall. As he circled, he tossed a branch from the forest inside the city. It clattered on the pavement without consequence. Then he landed, his feet gingerly touching the cobblestone pavement. He wasn't stone yet so that was hopeful.

On the other side of the wall, Bergil waited patiently for the vanaloke to return. After a few minutes, Turion descended to give his report. He looked very troubled.

"I was able to land without being turned to stone," he said. "It seems that whatever happened is passed. Though I...I saw something."

"What was it," Bergil asked. He could tell that the vanaloke was terribly shaken.

"You just have to see for yourself."

Turion hooked his hands under Bergil's shoulders and leapt straight up and over the wall. On the other side, the vanaloke's huge wings served as a parachute for them both as they gently touched down inside the city. They were standing in a garden just inside the outer wall.

Turion pointed to a figure standing some feet away.

"We are too late," the vanaloke said sadly.

"What do you mean," Bergil asked. He approached the figure and gave regretful chuckle. "That's not someone turned to stone, Turion. That's the statue of the Venë Faeur. She was a warrior who died in this garden two years ago."

The vanaloke walked up beside him. "But look at her Bergil," he said. "Don't you recognize her?"

The young man looked again. As he examined the statue closer, his mouth fell open in wonder.

"That can't be," he said. "But that's…"

Suddenly it all fell into place. It was as if scales had fallen from his eyes. Something in this brain had clicked.

"...that's Claire," he said incredulously. "But that's impossible! How can she be her? She hasn't aged a day. I met her when I was 10 and…"

Bergil remembered how Claire had said she had been in Minas Tirith during the war and how she had known Peregrin Took. It all made sense. But why hasn't he made the connection before? Why did he recognize her now?

In the statue's hands was the sword of the Venë Faeur, the only thing that she had left behind to mark her mysterious and strange legacy. Bergil walked up to the statue and saw that no snow had gathered on the blade or the hilt. That seemed odd.

He heard Turion give a sharp hiss as the vanaloke's head jerked upward.

"What is it?"

"Morloki," Turion said. "I can smell them. They are headed this way." The vanaloke turned to Bergil and said, "We should split up. I have a feeling that we need to avoid capture if we can."

"I'm not leaving you," Bergil insisted.

There was a skittering sound on the level above. Through the now heavy snowfall, they could see lights heading their way.

"No Bergil," Turion said. "You know who Claire is. That was probably why she didn't want to tell you. For some reason keeping her identity a secret was important. I can't let you fall into the hands of those Morloki. If they know you have information, they will drain your mind dry until there is nothing left."

"I won't run like a coward," Bergil said. He pushed past the vanaloke and began to walk towards the coming lights.

"I know," Turion said.

That was the last thing Bergil heard before he was knocked out.

Turion kicked in the door of a nearby shed. He set Bergil's unconscious body inside and closed the door. The vanaloke ran forward to meet the coming morloki. He agreed to go peaceably and was subsequently bound and taken to the Citadel by force.


	24. The Seventh Letter

**The Seventh Letter**

The light at the end of the tunnel actually came from a window set into a very ordinary looking door. Claire turned the door knob and it swung open quite easily. Past the door was an equally ordinary looking room. The walls were paneled with wood and the furniture reminded her of what she had seen in Rivendel. On one side of the large room and to her left was a fireplace that was lit and burning bright. Around it were several articles of furniture including a couch and a few chairs. On the other side of the large room and to her right was another door and a hallway with additional passages.

Claire stood for a moment utterly befuddled. What was this place? And more importantly, who had just lit a fire in the fireplace? Was someone already in there with her?

She cautiously explored the hallway and found two fully furnished bedrooms. One had a full bed and the other had two smaller twin beds.

But the other door in the main room led to the most interesting thing of all. Before her was a one room library. The walls were filled with books from floor to ceiling. In the center of the room stood a reading desk and a chair beside it. A lit oil lamp hung from the ceiling above. On the desk was a book that was very old by the look of it.

Leaving the Library, she came out into the main room. It was then that she noticed the only thing that was out of place. On the far wall, opposite the door she had come in by, was a section of wall not covered in wood paneling. It was rough hewn stone in the shape of a door. As Claire drew closer, she saw the faint outline of a hand, like someone had pressed their hand print into cement just before it was completely dry.

She had been through a lot of strange things today, so this only seemed natural. Claire pressed her right hand into the imprint. There was a grinding sound similar to the one she had heard when the "Matthew 7:7" door had opened for her. As the stone swung aside, she looked out into a snow covered city street.

"I've come out into the city," she thought to herself. "This is incredible!"

She stepped out of the door and into the deep snow. Looking back, she saw that the door was set into a simple rockface. Claire looked around at the front of the door that faced the city and saw a similar handprint. Was the opening mechanism just a handprint? If it was, surely in the thousands of years since this city was built, someone would have put their hand there wouldn't they? Yet why would anyone approach such an ordinary rockface. They were on every level; the place where the city met the mountain. Indeed it was an ingenious way to hide this kind of door.

It was then that Claire noticed how deathly silent it was. She wasn't sure what level she was on, but surely at this hour there would still be people out and about. As Claire began to walk forward, she noticed something lying in a deep drift of snow against the side of a building. A person was there, but they were uncovered by the falling flakes and must have recently arrived from somewhere.

Then Claire saw the blood. And as she drew nearer, she gasped and rushed forward.

"Prisca?" she cried. The hobbit was lying in the snowdrift, her face pale and her shoulder stained dark red.

Claire gathered up her friend in her arms and ran back to the hidden door. She laid the hobbit on the couch beside the fire. Claire closed the stone door with almost no effort and when it was sealed, only the hand print could be seen on either side.

"Prisca," Claire called as she patted the girl's face. The hobbit was out cold. The wound in Prisca's shoulder was odd. Something had pierced her shoulder and come out of the other side. Claire had never seen a bullet wound in real life before, but she had seen her fair share on television and in movies. If it was a bullet wound, it had gone clean through and not hit anything vital, so no risk of infection there. Claire grabbed the kettle by the fireplace which was conveniently full of water and soon had a cloth soaked in hot water to clean the injury as much as she could.

"This can't be a bullet wound," she said to herself. "There are no guns in Middle-earth." Then the memory of Morlyg's metal arm flashed in her mind. She had forgotten that detail. At the time she had been busy dying. The demon had said it was a gift from someone. Was someone bringing tech into Middle-earth?

Prisca laid on the couch by the fire, now bandaged with clean linens that Claire made from some of the bedsheets she has found in another room. The hobbit girl was resting peacefully and some of the color had returned to her face. Claire now noticed a growing bruise on the hobbit's left shin. It looked like she had struck something hard. Examining it futher, it was apparent that the limb wasn't broken.

As she was waiting for her friend to wake up, the Library began to peak Claire's curiosity. She entered the large room cautiously. She was still suspicious of whoever lit the lamp and the fireplace. Sitting down at the reading desk, she examined the very old book she had seen earlier. The pages were cracked and fraying. As she carefully opened the cover, she held her breath. When it didn't turn to dust, she leafed through the first page. It seemed to be filled with what looked like letters. Each page was a previously folded piece of paper that was now sewn into the binding.

The letters were written in elvish, yet as she gazed at them, she found that they were discernible and that she could read them. There was some sort of magic cast upon this book and her fingers tingled as she ran them across the paper. The letters were from someone who's initial was the letter "G" and in each note he was writing to his brother. As Claire read, she gathered that G was an elf and she learned of G's home life and research. She also read of his eventual obtaining of a forbidden gem called the Nolmirë. According to the letters, G's brother had some apprehension about the situation concerning the Nolmirë. Then came the letter where G discovered that there were indeed other worlds. He sounded so hopeful and passionate and Claire wondered what on earth this had to do with anything.

Then she came to the seventh letter. It was the longest of those so far from G to his brother.

And this is what it said.

* * *

_Brother,_

_Doubtless, you probably thought you would never hear from me again. How long has it been since I last wrote? A thousand or so years I suppose. Indeed, when I heard of how the enemy utterly destroyed Eregion, I was surprised to hear that you survived. _

_You are most likely wondering where I have been while Middle-earth has risen in turmoil once again. The tale is long and to write it is a difficult thing, yet it must be recorded. Someone must know what I have seen._

_I was able to open the doorway I spoke of in my last letter, but it was not what I thought it would be. The method I employed involved the crushing of a great gem, one forged by magic. I surmised that an application of physical pressure combined with heat intense enough to melt metal would crush the gem and create the portal. As I prepared to conduct my experiment, I called Melda in to join me and see my great discovery. I wished for her to look through into the new world with me, but alas this was a grave mistake. When I had succeeded in creating what was essentially a tear in our realm, the reaction was a violent one. When the doorway opened there was such a great rush of wind, a pulling of the very air around us, that both I and my beloved were drawn in. _

_When we were on the other side, the doorway was shut and we were trapped in the other realm. But it was not anything like I thought it would be. The land was scarred from battle. Melda and I found a city and came to understand that the other world was in the midst of a terrible war between two factions. We were promptly thrown into prison and told that strangers like us were under sentence of death. Both Melda and I despaired of ever returning to Middle-earth._

_Yet in the prison, we found a glimmer of hope. There was a person there who was different from the inhabitants of that land. He looked very much like them, but one only had to look at his eyes to see that he was not what he seemed. He explained that he was sentenced to death for being what is called a "Realm Jumper", one who travels between worlds. When I asked if he could help us escape, he refused to answer. I drew forth the Nolmirë which I had carried with me and after a few questions I found out that this man had the ability to help us escape. I begged him to take us with him when he left that land, if not for my own sake, for the sake of my wife and unborn child._

_The Realm Jumper refused to help us. He said that Eru had given him strict instructions not to take anyone out of that terrible war torn land. His mission was to simply give testimony before a court of law, after which he would leave. You can imagine my distress at this. Again I begged him to have mercy, and again he told us that Eru forbade him to do so._

_The next day both Melda and I appeared in the aforementioned court of law. Yet what we didn't realize was that this court was also a mass execution. There were many others there with us, some strangers like ourselves and some like the inhabitants of that land. They were strange to look upon with features like ours, but with odd markings and skin colors of bright blue. On that dark day, I witnessed the shedding of blood like I have never seen. Yet the worst was when they took my beloved and slew her before my very eyes. In that moment I lost everything and a madness took me. I broke from my captors and attacked the Realm Jumper in the midst of my fury. He had already given his testimony so I suppose that was why he did what happened next._

_He struggled to push me off of him while also reaching for something around his neck. In the midst of our struggle, I broke my grip of him. Yet reaching back in one last desperate attempt, the inhabitants of that land descending upon me to drag me to the same doom as my wife, I reached for the Realm Jumper's ankle and gripped it tight._

_Suddenly that terrible world fell away and we were rushing upward. Before I could understand what was happening, both I and the Realm Jumper were crawling out of a pool in the midst of a wood. Still enraged, I struck him on the head and he fell to the grassy ground unconscious. The Realm Jumper looked very different now, a completely different creature than he was before. _

_For a moment I panicked. I had no idea where I was or how I got there. The Jumper began to stir and in the midst of panic, I ran and hid behind one of the trees. He got up, gathered himself, stepped into a different pool, and vanished beneath the surface. It then occurred to me that each pool must be a realm. This place, this wood between realms, was a thoroughfare of sorts. _

_I too stepped into a pool, but to my horror nothing happened. No matter how much I stamped and splashed, I could not enter. I fell to my knees in despair. Gripping the Nolmirë in my hand I asked what I should do. The answer was surprising. "Go straight ahead," it said to me. So I did; I began to walk in the direction I was facing. _

_Time does not seem to pass in that place. There is no night, only dim green and gold day. I also never became hungry or thirsty. It was as if all the functions of life were not needed in that place. Thus I do not know how long I walked. It could have been a day and it could have been a hundred years. I never saw another soul and the trees all looked the same. The monotony was maddening._

_At last something changed. Ahead of me I saw a tree that was different from all the others. It was larger than the other trees and its roots were far reaching and deep. As I drew near I saw a creature standing before the tree. It was harvesting the leaves and nuts from the branches of the large tree. The leaves were bright and shimmered like gold in the dim light from above. The nuts were green and were also very shiny like metal. The strange being before me was plucking them from the tree and gathering them up in a box. When it finished, it entered a nearby pool like the Realm Jumper had done and I was again wholly alone._

_I too reached up and plucked a leaf and a nut from the tree. They were like nothing we have in Middle-earth. They both appeared to be made of metal, but they were also of an organic nature. As I held them in my hands, I happened to step through a pool. I had been walking through the pools as I went in case any of them would open for me. The moment I stepped in, I was pulled under and thus found myself in another world._

_I had made a monumental discovery. Touching the seeds let you leave the Wood. In that other world, I happen to touch the golden leaf and it drew me back into the Wood, very much like what had happened with the Realm Jumper. To protect these treasures, I later fashioned a box similar to the harvester's and placed them in it. Though they are of a metal nature, they decay just as all things do. It seems that a wooden container slows this, but ultimately I surmise that I must replenish my supply. This box, along with the Nolmirë, are my most prized possessions._

_I must tell you brother that with such power at my fingertips, I could have gone anywhere or done anything. I could have returned to Middle-earth. Yet my heart was still broken over the loss of my beloved and our child. Despair settled on me again and my heart burned with vengeance against that terrible world we had been pulled into._

_I have seen many things you could not comprehend. I have been to worlds you could not imagine. There are lands where machines can speak and people can fly like birds. There are worlds where science and experiments have yielded extraordinary results. And there are places where magic is so thick that power is more tangible than the very ground you stand upon. I went to all these places and I learned. I do not know how many years it was. I know that after I had finally obtained what I sought, I was ready for what I was purposed to do._

_There are spells far stronger than any magic in Middle-earth. Spells that can heal and spells that can kill. There are also spells that can carry out unspeakable horror on entire realms. That was what I finally obtained. _

_I returned to that world in which I and my beloved had so unexpectedly found ourselves in. Much had changed in the hundreds of years since that dark day when my Melda's blood had been poured out before me. The war between factions had ended and instead of arresting me as a stranger, the inhabitants greeted me as a friend. Yet their good will was not returned. I slew their leader before his people and pronounced judgment upon that realm. They pleaded with me to have mercy, but I gave them none. They asked me to spare their world, but they were the descendants of the ones who killed my beloved. She and my unborn child...they were _my_ world._

_That realm burned. After the spell was cast and I stood alone amongst the charred remains of all that had been alive, I looked up to the heavens with darkening eyes. I had slain those who had taken my beloved and now I wished to have vengeance upon the One who had denied me the chance to save her._

_Eru, the pompous Creator of all things. He had ordered the Realm Jumper not to save us. He denied me the chance to save Melda and my child. My brother, you cannot understand such hatred as I have for Him. I swore that day, standing amongst the scorched dead, that I would defy Him until I had grown more powerful than He. I would ascend by every method the worlds could offer me and I would become greater than the Creator Himself._

_I have journeyed to many realms since that day and gained pawns and allies along the way. The Realm Jumpers have noticed me of late. I take great pleasure in killing them when they cross my path. They call me "The Abberator." A fitting title. I care not what chaos comes of my deeds. Unlimited power bleeds chaos. I have visited thousands upon thousands of worlds and I have gained something from each one. To tell you of my power would take a lifetime. Yet I can tell you this: I was immortal as an elf, yet I am no longer an elf, dear brother. I am higher than immortality. I am a god. Death cannot touch me. Vengeance and sorrow follow in my wake. I was born of blood, despair, and fire. Time itself bows before me and worships. Space bends to my very will. None can resist me._

_And you must join me dear brother. Together we can overthrow Sauron. We can pay him back for the fall of Eregion and the death of Celebrimbor. We can shape Middle-earth in whatever way we please. There will be nothing in all the realms that you will want for. I give all that can be desired._

_Yours,_

_G_

* * *

Claire sat back in the chair. Her throat had gone dry. What a story! This had to be the individual Elrain had talked about on her last mission in Middle-earth. The Abberator. And now here was his motive revealed. If only Elrain could see this. If only Claire could tell her somehow!

But the story didn't end there. Claire's hands trembled as she turned the page. There was another letter, but this time it was _from_ the brother. It was patched together from several torn pieces; as if someone had ripped up the letter and then put it back together again. Yet one piece towards the end looked newer than the others. As she studied it, she realized that here at last was another mystery solved. The missing piece of the letter, the piece that had been replaced by newer parchment, was the same shape as the one that Elrond had in his library. The one that the prophecy about her had been translated from.

At the top of the letter was a name. The name of the Abberator himself.

* * *

_Dear Guledel,_

_My brother, your last letter was both a joy and a sorrow to me. I am thrilled to find that you still live, yet your account is a most bitter tale. I am sorry for the terrible loss you have experienced. However I must decline your invitation to join you._

_I have settled in a valley called Rivendell. Elrond, half-elven has been the primary founder and this haven is much needed for many of us after what has happened. The fall of Eregion was a dark time in my life, yet even in the midst of such turmoil I at last have discovered the meaning of my dreams. Eru himself has spoken to me and revealed to me much that is to be. I am a seer, one who sees the future. Yet this gift has yielded more anguish than joy._

_I knew that much evil had befallen you, but in what manner I was not sure. Now at last as I read your letter I see the connection. About a year ago I had a vision of a barren wasteland scorched by fire. You stood in the center surrounded by death._

_I must implore you brother, you must stop this path you have set for yourself! You have great power, but I foresee that this will only lead to more sorrow. Cast aside the Nolmirë! Leave all that you have seen behind. Come to Rivendell if you wish. There is healing here for the wayward soul. It would bring me much joy to see you after so long of an absence._

_There is one final thing that I must relay to you. It pains me to tell you what I have seen of your future, yet Eru has bid me warn you of what is yet to be._

_In visions of the dark night I have beheld one who is called the Venë Faeur, a traveler who is yet to come, the catalyst of your reckoning. This Vessel of Fire shall confront great evil and defeat it utterly. She is not from Middle-earth, yet she knows much of it and its future. She is both a great warrior and the guardian of a book from another realm which tells of Middle-earth's history and that which is yet to come. The tales of this world are much beloved by her and thus she has studied it. For this reason she was chosen as a servant of Eru and set as a guardian of its preservation. Indeed, as the turn of the tide approaches, she will come to us to keep watch over the fate of Middle-earth._

_Eru has appointed that the Venë Faeur will undo all you have purposed in your heart. By her strong right hand you shall fall and your death will be swift and unavoidable. Know this, dear brother, that you are no god. If you do not turn from this path you follow, you shall die alone in a world other than your own, in bitterness and despair. _

_Yours,_

_Palanion_

* * *

That name..._Palanion_. She had heard that name before.

"Of course," she whispered. "Elrond said that Palanion lived in Rivendel and that he wrote the prophesy. Bilbo put this missing part into a poem."

The next letter was a response.

* * *

_Palanion,_

_You cannot hide from me forever dear brother. I came to Rivendell to find you but you were not there. You should be thankful that I spared those mindless elves who live there. Their small existence is but a vapor compared to my dominion, but I needed someone to give you this note if ever you return._

_Doubtless you presumed my wrath. Though we are blood, you are no longer a kinsman of mine, you treacherous snake. If we ever meet again, I may kill you if you are not careful. You dare to speak the judgement of my enemy upon me? You are a fool! Such things are blasphemous to even utter! I can take your life with a thought if I wish. And as for this Venë Faeur, do you think such words scare me? If I ever encounter this woman, this guardian of history, she will be utterly destroyed. _

_I warn you Palanion...I told you my tale in confidence and any attempt on your part to thwart me will earn you a fate worse than death. Be wary. I have eyes everywhere. _

_Guledel_

* * *

On the next page was Palanion's response.

* * *

_Guledel,_

_If such a god as yourself has eyes everywhere, then why is it that you have yet to find me? I returned to Rivendel and found your note. I also found the torn remnants of my previous letter. I suppose such blasphemous words were too much for your fragile god-like ego to bear._

_I do not fear you dear brother. I have seen your end. And I am pleased to tell you that in the time that you have been searching for me, I have been very busy making preparations. You see, I was commissioned to be one of the chief architects of a city that has been recently completed. It was an ambitious task to be sure, but it is at last finished. The city has been named Minas Anor by the kings of men. It is a multi-leveled city carved from white stone at the foot of Mount Mindolluin._

_In the time that I was there, the vision of Eru came to me again and instructed me. He bid me lay such spells as I am capable of upon the upper level so that no evil spirit may enter there so long as it stands. In addition, as the city was being built, I directed many of the craftsmen and stone masons under my command to fashion a hidden chamber within the city. This place has been made specifically for the Venë Faeur. It cannot be touched by supernatural ability, technological endeavour, or alteration of time. In this hidden place, this safehouse, I have left all your letters to me, as well as what remnants of my last letter inside the safehouse. I also have left her a copy of this note. I have foreseen that the Venë Faeur will need this information. For her to defeat you, she must know who and what you are._

_Eru also has given me a special gift to leave for her. It is what the Realm Jumpers call a "Realm Spell." It is a powerful incantation that no counterspell from any world can ever overcome. I have hidden it in the safehouse. You will never find it. Only the Vessel of Fire can reach it._

_I apologize sincerely that I have caused so much trouble to a god such as yourself. If you do kill me someday dear brother, it matters not. I have done what I was destined to do from the beginning. The words of Eru shall stand._

_Yours,_

_Palanion_

* * *

"Who are you?"

Claire jumped at the sound of Prisca's voice. Her back was to the hobbit as Claire sat at the reading desk. Prisca's voice sounded older and Claire could feel an intangible pressure upon her back. She remembered how the hobbit had moved her sword and held back Morlyg with only her mind. What kind of power did Prisca have exactly?

"Who are you and what is this place?" the hobbit said again.

Claire stood and slowly turned. Prisca's jaw dropped. Her upraised hands fell at her sides. Claire smiled as tears began to flow down her cheeks.

"Claeo?" the hobbit breathed.

Claire rushed forward and falling to her knees, she embraced her hobbit friend. At last she had her back. Her sister that she had always longed for. The hobbit girl wept with her and for a long while they didn't want to let each other go.

When they finally came apart, Prisca said, "You...you died. I saw you. And then you vanished."

"I came back," Claire said.

"Your scars," the hobbit said as she ran her fingers over the long marks on Claire's face. "It really is you. I waited for you. I waited 40 days and you didn't return. We wrote you off as dead." Prisca laughed in spite of herself as she said, "Peregrin had a statue of you made down on the first level. It's a glorified holder for your sword."

Claire laughed with her. It had been so long since she had heard Prisca's laugh and her heart felt like it would burst with joy.

"How is Peregrin," Claire asked.

A shadow passed over Prisca's face. Her lips began to tremble as she said, "I - I had almost forgotten. Seeing you...I wondered if it was all a nightmare." She reached up and touched the dressing on her wound. "But now I know it isn't."

Worry began to fill Claire's heart. "What do you mean? What's going on?"

Prisca's eyes filled with tears as she said what Claire might have guessed from her reaction, yet dreaded to hear.

"Claeo," the hobbit said. "Something terrible has happened."


	25. The Abberator

**The Abberator**

Peregrin Took's head swam. He was on his hands and knees while gasping for air but he didn't know why. His head was all jumbled like all his thoughts were in the wrong places.

There were a lot of things going on around him. Shapes were moving around the Citadel throne room and people were talking. As his vision cleared, he looked up and saw one person standing in front of him.

"Take it slowly," the person said. "The reverse spell can be a bit messy."

Then it all came flooding back to him. Varin had been turned to stone by Alric. Then a morloke had killed Faron. And Prisca...the last thing Peregrin remembered was telling her to get out and then…

The hobbit coughed as he remembered the pain that had spread through his body. He shivered as he realized what had happened to him. He glanced down at his hands. He seemed to be flesh and blood now. His lungs ached and dizziness swept over him again.

"Why," the hobbit wheezed. "...am I...?" His body shook with a hacking cough.

The person before him sat down in the Steward's chair and leaned back casually. "Why aren't you turned to stone?"

Peregrin nodded.

"Because I need you Peregrin."

The hobbit looked up at the person formerly known as Alric. His mop of hair was gone; obviously a wig that he had worn this whole time. Yet the most surprising thing was the fellow's ears. They were pointed. This person, the infamous Abberator, was an elf. But there was something wrong about his head. There was a long scar that wrapped around the side of his skull that that made a distinct line in his short black hair. Peregrin had never seen an elf with short hair before. His clothes were very strange; all black and of a unfamiliar design.

In his hand was the staff that had turned Peregrin to stone. The elf saw him staring at it and said, "Do you like it? I pieced it together from all across the worlds. And this here…" He tapped at a long shard of metal inlaid into the main handle. "This came from a small fledgling world. I plucked it from a battlefield after its owner met her inevitable end. It took a lot of research to get it to work again, but I'd say the effects are satisfactory."

All around the throne room of the citadel, strange objects and structures were arranged. Rectangular things that glowed. They looked like mirrors and yet what they reflected didn't make sense.

"Who are you," Peregrin asked as he was finally able to to sit upright without falling over. "What do you want with us?"

The elf laughed. "Want with you? Such a simple question and yet the answer is much more complicated. That will come later. For now I can give you my name. I was once known as Guledel of the Noldor in days long past. Yet in more recent times, I have become known as the Abberator by the Realm Jumpers. I assume you've heard of me from your cousin? She was a clever one."

"Where is she?" Peregrin asked. "What have you done with her?"

Guledel rose from the Steward's chair and approached the hobbit.

"I have eyes all over this city," the elf said. "There is no corner that is beyond my sight."

Guledel turned and as Peregrin watched, one of the strange mirrors changed to reflect another part of the city. It was the city dungeons that were located on the east side of the citadel. Peregrin's jaw dropped when he saw the vanaloke.

"We picked him up last night," Guledel said pointing at the mirror. "He claims to be Laemellon's brother. He took it very hard when we showed him what was left of her."

The grief of Laemellon's death washed over Peregrin. "You snake!" the hobbit shouted. "Where is Prisca?

"Why don't you find out yourself? That is your ability isn't it? To be able to see and speak to other Realm Jumpers wherever they are. And also grant them the temporary ability to see and speak to you.

Peregrin faltered. "How do you know that?" Only Prisca, Laemellon, and Losswen knew about his Realm Jumper ability.

Guledel tightened his grip on the staff and the end of it glowed with a faint bluish green light. There was a long bright teal colored gem set within the metal point. It illuminated the elf's face as he said, "I know more than you could possibly imagine. Yet, for the first time in nearly a thousand years, I am at a loss."

The elf got down on one knee so that he was eye level with Peregrin.

"That's why I need you, Peregrin. My sight only covers this city. I need your gift to find someone for me beyond these walls."

The hobbit looked intently at him with narrowed eyes. "Who?"

"The Venë Faeur."

If Peregrin's lungs hadn't been aching so much, he might have laughed. Instead he gave a cough and a regretful chuckle.

"She's dead. She died two years ago."

"Oh I'm very aware of that," Guledel said. "I saw the memorial you set up. It was very tasteful by the way. Even if it was unnecessary."

It was then that the shapes moving around Peregrin became clearer. Guledel's "servants" were more morloki. These stood up straight and wore nicer clothes than their bent over, rag clad counterparts. One of the morloki, the biggest one, the one who had killed Faron and whom Guledel had addressed as Armus, stood at attention with arms crossed by the Steward's chair. He was looking at Peregrin and his gaze made the hobbit shiver.

Guledel gently lifted Peregrin's chin so that they were face to face. "I need you to find the Venë Faeur for me, Peregrin. I need to know where she is."

The hobbit wrenched his face away from the elf's touch. He staggered to his feet and stepped away from him. "Even if she was alive, I would never help you find her."

The elf frowned. "I thought it might come to this."

Armus raised a hand and signaled for one of his comrades to approach. Peregrin tried to run, but his head was still tipsy. The other morloke forced him back onto his knees, its strong hand holding him down by the back of his neck.

"Where is the Venë Faeur?" Guledel asked again. "You will tell me or I assure you bad things will happen."

"I'll never help you," Peregrin said.

Stabbing pain shot through the hobbit's skull. Five long claws sunk into his scalp as he gasped in pain and shock.

"Do you know what happens when a morloke reads your thoughts," Guledel asked nonchalantly. "They can sift through your mind as much as they want. Every memory, every thought. And all the while that they do that, they drain your life force. First your sight will go. Then you will suffer severe dehydration. Finally your heart will become so dry that what blood left in you won't even matter. And after all that you will still be conscious. You see, a morloke can keep a brain alive as long as he has his claws in it regardless of the body's condition."

Peregrin trembled as the stabbing pain became numb. Guledel leaned down again and spoke closely into the hobbit's ear.

"So unless you want to be turned into a living husk, you will use your ability and find the Venë Faeur for me."

Tears began to flow down Peregrin's cheeks. Did it really matter anyway? Claeo wasn't out there. He was as good as dead. Yet the overwhelming desire to stop his own death was compelling. He could feel the morloke sifting through his thoughts and he wanted nothing more than to make it stop.

He shut his eyes and concentrated. Peregrin reached out with his mind and searched. His consciousness was spreading out like vines from a tree; feeling, grasping for something. He strained. Something was wrong. The horror of it chilled him more than the thought of his own death.

"I can't see anyone," he gasped.

"What do you mean," Guledel asked.

"I can't see Claeo and...and I can't see Prisca."

"Your cousin is dead," the elf said flatly. "She tried to fly away and we shot her down. She landed down on the third level where she damaged some of our equipment. I have a team going down there as we speak. After lying in the snow all night with such a wound... I shudder to think what they will find."

Peregrin's eyes popped open. They were bright and burning with blue fire. Through _the sight_ the hobbit saw that Guledel was darker than the other shadows in the room.

"But Claeo is here," Guledel said. "She is in Middle-earth. Find her."

In bitterness and sorrow, Peregrin concentrated again. He stretched his mind out until he thought it might snap. He screamed in pain and rage as the morloke's claws tightened.

"I can't see them," Peregrin said through gritted teeth. "You have your claws in my mind. Surely you can see that too."

Armus, glared at him and then glanced at the morloke holding Peregrin. The morloke nodded in agreement. Peregrin looked up at the elf with a pale and drawn face. Already he was feeling the effects of the drain on his body. His vision was blurring again and he felt extremely thirsty. Guledel gazed back at him . The elf looked like he was trying to decide what to do. At last he raised his chin and said, "Then you are of no use to me. Drain him dry."

Then two things happened. First was a sound behind Peregrin and the morloke. Guledel looked up and past them and his jaw dropped in amazement. Second was a loud bang. The sound was almost deafening and with it the morloke gripping Peregrin's head jerked violently. The claws withdrew with a sickening slicing sound and the hobbit fell forward onto his hands and knees. His vision was a little blurry but not gone. As he lifted his head and turned to looked back at the morloke that had nearly killed him, Peregrin saw the last thing he ever expected.

Standing less than 10 feet away was the Owl. She was in her signature white, but her clothes were of a strange design that Peregrin had never seen before. Her short white hair hung loosely around her metal mask, yet now her dark roots were beginning to show. She stepped over the dead morloke as she approached the hobbit and the elf. In her right hand was a long metal object that was now pointed at Guledel. Behind them, Peregrin heard Armus growl, but Guledel raised a hand signaling him not to attack the strange woman.

"And who are you," the elf asked.

The Owl didn't speak. She reached up with her gloved left hand and gripped her mask. She pulled and the tie that had secured it around her head came loose. She flung it to the side where it clattered on the stone floor.

As her face was uncovered, Peregrin looked up from his position on the floor in utter shock. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing clearly. Even with his blurred vision from the morloke's drain, he recognized this person.

"But... that's impossible," he whispered.

The person standing before him was none other than Elrain, the Realm Jumper.


	26. Prologue - Part 2

**Prologue  
**part 2

When Elrain arrived in the Silent Realm she found herself in a narrow alley made of brick and mortar. Still reeling from the decision she had just made and the desperation of her pursuit, she stumbled forward and out into an equally narrow city street. It was late afternoon and Elrain blinked in the intense light that streamed in from the west.

She walked sideways down the street, her eyes wide with wonder. She was actually _in_ the Silent Realm. People, humans from the look of them, were walking all around. They didn't seem to take much notice of her. She reached up and felt her ears; she was human too.

As she stood in the center of what looked to be a small city square, she suddenly remembered her mission. Elrain pulled out her radiometer. As the display lit up, her heart sank. There was no signature.

"No!" she said as she hit the side of the device with her left hand. "No, I can't lose him now."

But she had lost him. The world around Elrain grew dim as she realized what she had done. She had broken the sanctions on this world for nothing. She had entered a forbidden realm thinking she could make up for it by catching the Abberator, but had failed.

She sat down on a nearby bench. An elderly man was sitting on another bench a few paces away. As he threw crumbs to the gathering pigeons, he gave Elrain a kind, albeit hesitant, nod. Elrain sat on the bench, her mind numb with fear of the future. How could she have made such a rash decision? She could return to the Wood, but that prospect only filled her with dread. She would have to face the consequences of her actions eventually. Exile was the usual penance.

The sun was just beginning to set behind the short buildings of the square and the elderly man left his bench. Soon Elrain sat alone in the square as the people passed her by.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I thought I was doing the right thing. Please forgive me."

_Everything has its purpose._

Elrain looked up at the tall building across from her. She had noticed it before, but had been too preoccupied with her own misery and self pity. It was a tall structure that was obviously much older than the other buildings. It had a large round stained glass window on the front that reflected the warm light of the afternoon sun. People were entering through the two large arched doorways in the front.

She leaned over and put her head in her hands. "Whatever punishment you have for me, I accept it as just. I knew I was breaking sanctions. Have mercy on your servant."

There was no reply from Eru, but suddenly Elrain's ears perked up. There was music drifting toward her that was familiar. A choir was singing.

_Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!_

_Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee;_

_Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty!_

_God in three persons, blessed Trinity!_

Elrain stood up slowly. She had heard that song before. It had been so long ago; she couldn't place it. She strode up to the large double doors and pressed her ear against them. The singing continued.

_Holy, holy, holy! All the saints adore Thee,_

_Casting down their golden crowns __around the glassy sea_

_Cherubim and seraphim __falling down before Thee,_

_Who wert, and art, and __evermore shall be._

Elrain pushed open the doors and walked inside. She beheld a huge interior with a long, high vaulted ceiling and ornate arched pillared. Stained glass windows peaked out from old yet well preserved stone work. Chairs were arranged in rows leaving one asle in the middle. At the far end, the choir continued to sing while a few people sat scattered in the first few rows.

_Holy, holy, holy! Tho' the darkness hide Thee,_

_Tho' the eye of sinful man Thy glory may not see;_

_Only Thou art holy; there is none beside Thee,_

_Perfect in power, in love, and purity._

Then she remembered. Of course! It was the song that Claeo had sung in Rivendel all those years ago when the young girl had first come to Middle-earth. She had taught it to the elves under the light of the stars. Elrain remembered how Claeo had said that it was a song about Eru. It was odd to hear that people in the Silent Realm, so cut off from the servants of the Maker, would sing songs about Him.

There was something about this place. Something Elrain would have described as enchantment. Perhaps it was the smell of the old wood and stone or the haunting music of the choir. Yet something told Elrain that it was the people sitting in the chairs facing away from her.

She shifted her eyes to _the sight_ and Elrain gasped at what she saw.

Of the roughly 30 people seated before her, about half of them glowed with a bright light. She blinked to make sure she was seeing right. It was true. They were Realm Jumpers.

"But that's impossible," she whispered.

"Can I help you, miss?"

Elrain willed _the sight_ to cease and turned. A man was standing next to her. He was wearing some sort of robe-like uniform and he had a kind face. "You are just in time for Evensong if you would like to have a seat," he said.

"Those people..." Elrain said. "They are Realm Jumpers. But this world is sanctioned."

"I beg your pardon?" the man said, more than a bit confused.

"The people...sitting there. Who are they?

"They are visitors to the Cathedral," the man said slowly. "This is Evensong. We have this every Monday through Saturday at 5:30pm and 4 o'clock on Sundays."

Elrain was growing frustrated. This man obviously didn't understand what she was trying to understand herself.

"Those people have the spirit of the Maker within them. How is that possible?"

The man gave a small smile. "Do you refer to the indwelling of the Spirit?"

"Yes!" Elrain said. "They have the Spirit of the Maker within them because they are His followers. How did so many come to be this way?"

The man chuckled and said, "You are asking about basic theology, Ma'am. After Christ ascended into heaven, He sent the Holy Spirit to indwell his followers. We call it the day of Pentecost."

"Christ? Do you mean the Maker?"

The man nodded. "He was God in human form. He came to die for the sins of mankind and then rose from the dead, defeating death. Those who follow him receive His spirit."

"How many of His followers are there?"

"In the city of Truro," the man asked.

"In the whole of this world," Elrain clarified.

The man chuckled. "There are millions of Christians all around the world."

Elrain nearly fell over. "Millions?! You have millions of Realm Jumpers in this world? But why?"

"I'm not sure what you are asking," the man said patiently.

"Why don't they leave?"

The man looked intently at Elrain. "Leave? Where would they go? Jesus said that our purpose in this life is to spread the Gospel; to tell the world about Him and spread His message of love to all people."

She began to back away from him. As Elrain leaned against a pillar, things began to fall into place.

"Of course," she said aloud. "The event that drove the Maker to sanction this world...it was this Pentecost you speak of. An influx of Realm Jumpers springing up in a single realm overnight and all of them assigned to their own home world. Of course He had to block it off. If they had access to the Wood they might be tempted to desert their task. This world isn't sanctioned to keep things out. It's sanctioned to keep them in."

Her train of thought was broken by a beeping from her pocket. She pulled out her radiometer. The indicator was flashing. The Abberator's signal was back.

Elrain shook the man's hand vigorously. "Thank you! Thank you so much. I understand now." And then she dashed out of the large double doors leaving the confused man and the song filled hall behind.

She turned left down a street labeled "High Cross." Coming to a fork, she glanced at the display and took the right street. Down through the narrow thoroughfare she ran. The Abberator's signature was drawing closer with every step. Hope was rekindled and she ran faster. The road bent left and became a bridge over a small river.

At last she stopped. From what she could tell, the signature was coming from inside one of the small shops just ahead. Elrain approached a small white painted storefront. The sign above the door had a word written in bright green letters.

_Oxfam_

The door to the shop swung open and a masked figure came walking out. None of the humans on the street noticed him. It was as if he was invisible to their gaze. A bundle was tucked beneath his arm. He saw Elrain and immediately did what she suspected he would do. He reached for the wooden box which hung from a chain around his neck and popped it open. Before she could say a word he was gone. Elrain reached for her ring and made the jump, leaving the strange Silent Realm behind.

* * *

Once again, the Abberator was one step ahead of Elrain. By the time she came out of the world pool, he was already diving into another. She recognized it. It was Middle-earth. Everything she knew about Realm Jumping was about to be thrown out of the window. It didn't matter what happened on the other side; she was going to catch him or die trying.

As Middle-earth solidified around her, she found herself in a densely grown up wood. Ahead of her were faint voices. Elrain crept through the underbrush and stopped at the forest's edge. As she crawled, she noticed that her hair was long again. It fell in her face as she crouched beneath the trees. Apparently her hair as well as her ears had returned to their prior state.

A few feet away was her quarry. His back was to her and he was standing still. This was her chance. Elrain reached up and unholstered her tactical staff. As she analyzed the Abberator, she felt that a swift blow to his back was the best option. He still wore his mask, but the rest of him didn't seem to be armored. Then Elrain glanced at the object in her hand.

This wasn't her tactical staff. It was the time staff from the museum. The one that was exactly like the staff the Owl had. She must have picked it up by accident after she was thrown against the display case.

That was when Elrain understood everything.

A figure approached the Abberator from the left. The man turned. The person in front of him was hideous, but not surprising to Elrain. It was a twisted humanoid female with reptilian features.

"Did you bring it," the female asked.

The Abberator pulled the vial of the Curator's blood from his coat pocket. The female took it and popped the lid off. Then she raised a bent claw to her lips and the thick slime from her tongue coated the nail. She dipped it into the blood and change began to spread up her arm. Her scaly skin became unblemished and her scraggly limp hair became sleek and black. Her features smoothed and at last the transformation was complete.

Morlyg stretched her arms and examined her new form.

"Is it satisfactory?" the Abberator asked, his voice low and distorted by his mask.

Morlyg smiled with her now very red lips. "Very much so. Forms like this are hard to come by."

"I am happy to placate your vanity," the Abberator said. "Now to business."

He reached into the satchel slung across his back and pulled out two objects. One was a book, the other a strange handle-like device.

"This," he said as he handed Morlyg the book, "Is a record of the days to come. It will take some time for you to read, but I trust you are a quick study. Remember, only kill the halflings. I want the other players in this tale to be at my disposal. To give you a head start, you can find the youngest two at the Falls of Rauros on February 26th."

The Abberator paused and then added, "Kill the smaller one first."

He then handed the other device to the demon. She took it hesitantly.

"And what is this," she asked.

"Just something I picked up along the way," he said. "Press the button there."

Morlyg pressed the switch in the side of the device and suddenly a bright red curved blade sprang from one end. It burned and whizzed as she spun it with satisfaction.

"Very impressive," she said.

"It can split into two blades if needed," he said. "But only once. Use it wisely."

"Understood," Morlyg said. "But, if I may ask, what does slaying the halflings do? They aren't powerful."

The Abberator's mask hid any expression, but his tone of voice betrayed his emotions. Elrain could hear him grinning with satisfaction as he said, "This isn't about power. This is about that book you hold in your new hands. The hobbits are the core of the story and I want to ruin it." He paused for a moment and then added, "Also, if the opportunity rises, destroy her right hand."

Morlyg gave him a puzzled look, but then nodded.

The Abberator and the demon parted ways. Morlyg began to head south and the Abberator headed off in a northerly direction. Yet Elrain did not pursue them. She stayed hidden in the bushes for a long while trying to gather her thoughts. From the look of the forest, she was no more than a mile from Lothlorien. She shut her eyes resolutely. It was time to come full circle.

* * *

"Oh no. Please tell me this isn't happening."

"Oh yes. I'm afraid it is."

As Elrain stood before her younger self, she was amazed at being on the other side now.

"But how can you be here?" young Elrain asked frustratedly. "Don't you..._.I_...know the kind of paradoxes we could cause?"

"The less I answer your questions, the better," Older Elrain said. "All I can tell you is this: Claeo needs your help, but you are also needed here. You must follow after her in secret. I will remain in Lothlorien and take your place."

"But you have knowledge of the future," young Elrain said. "Won't that influence coming events?"

The older smiled and shook her head. "I will tell you nothing of what I experience. From this point on we must only interact unless absolutely necessary. That is the only way to preserve the timeline."

Younger Elrain gazed at her with raised eyebrows. "From this point on? Are you staying?"

Older Elrain ignored the question and continued. "You must go to the Forest of Ithillien. Claeo needs help slowing Morlyg down. If she is thwarted in Ithillien, the demon will make her way to Minas Tirith. Peregrin Took will be her next target. Also you can tell her that Morlyg's true motive is to ruin the story that Claeo carries with her."

Younger Elrain's brows narrowed in confusion. "Ruin the story? What for?"

"That is yet to be seen," Older Elrain said slowly. "When you return from this journey, do not approach Isengard. I will meet you south of there and give you further instructions."

Elrain's younger self seemed a bit more satisfied. "One thing you must tell me," young Elrain said. "Will this all make sense someday?"

The older of the two smiled.

"Yes."

* * *

As Claeo and Elrain left Rivendel on the morning of September 29, 3019, older Elrain watched from one of the high windows of the last homely house. She had lent the time staff to the younger version of herself in order to let Claeo see the end of the Story.

Elledan, one of Elrond's sons stood beside her and watched as the young girl and the elf walked through the gates and headed west.

"I would not have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes," he said.

"Did you think I would fabricate such a ridiculous tale," Elrain asked. "Traveling through time and meeting myself is not something I chose to do. But now I must follow the path set before me."

"Where will you go now," Elledan asked as he turned to her. Elrain's face was grave. Even in the few days since she had arrived in secret, she seemed older.

"With your permission, I will stay here."

Elledan looked confused. "But you said that none must know who you truly are. Surely the elves here will recognize you. Do you mean to stay shut up here in this room forever?"

A knowing smirk played across her face as Elrain said, "I will need a disguise. I will hide my face and use what dyes you have to change my hair. I will need a persona. Something to explain my knowledge of what has been and what will be."

"A seer perhaps," Elledan offered. "As for a persona, I could have the smithies make a mask for you. What would you prefer?"

Elrain smiled. "I think I have an idea."


	27. The Discovery

**The Discovery**

"So much makes sense now," Prisca said. "The Morloki said they were looking for something in the City. It must be this place they were looking for...this safehouse. And Palanion made it specially for you."

Claire nodded as she sat next to Prisca. It was the next morning, the dawn of February 26th. Claire and Prisca sat on the couch by the fire in the safehouse under Minas Tirith. The news of Laemellon's death and Peregrin's demise still hung heavy on Claire. A part of her felt detached and numb from the situation Prisca had described the night before. She feared that if she truly accepted it, she might not be able to go on. She thought back to the last time she had seen her vanaloke friend, when Morlyg had taken her prisoner. Laemellon had been in incredible pain, yet she was still strong. Imagining her being murdered chilled Claire. She resolved that there would be time for grief later.

The hobbit had the book of letters in her lap as they sat by the still burning fire.

"The clue on the door was for me too," Claire said. "Only someone from my world would have known the answer to the riddle."

"But where is this realm spell that Palanion writes about," Prisca mused.

"I looked for it last night after you fell asleep," Claire said. "I assumed it was written in one of those books, but there are so many. It will take us a while to find it and even then, I'm not sure what it does."

Prisca looked around the room at the furniture and walls. "I suppose it could be anywhere."

"Well, we are safe," Claire said as she stood up from the couch. "That door is well hidden from anyone outside. It sounds like whatever this realm spell is, Palanion didn't want Guledel to get a hold of it. He literally built the city in order to hide this place. We need to -"

Claire stopped. Prisca looked up at her and she knew the hobbit had felt it too.

"Peregrin," the hobbit girl whispered. "He's alive!"

The hobbit jumped up from her seat but winced as her sore arm throbbed. The bullet wound would heal in time, but her arm hung in a sling to hinder further damage.

"I feel it too," Claire said. "But this is different from last time. I can't hear him, but I know he's reaching out to - "

A wave of nausea swept over them both. Claire and Prisca clutched the sides of their heads as Peregrin's telepathic connection grew more intense.

"He's in pain," Prisca moaned. "He needs help."

Claire righted herself as the nausea lessened. She grabbed her coat from a nearby chair and staggered to the stone door.

"What are you doing?" Prisca yelled.

Claire put on her coat and pressed her hand onto the door. The slab of stone swung open and the dim grey light of morning streamed in. "I'm going to find Peregrin," Claire said. "Stay here."

Prisca began to protest as Claire threw her weight against the door and it slammed shut. Claire wasn't 100% sure what she was going to do, but she knew that somehow she had to get up to the Citadel. That monster had caused enough pain. Eru was with her. It was time to end this.

As she began to trudge through the snow, she noticed that Peregrin's searching mind had stopped. She began to run faster. There had to be a reason he was doing this. Prisca said he had been turned to stone. What more could be done to the poor halfling?

Suddenly Claire stopped. She was standing in front of Losswen's house. Apparently the secret door was on the third level. Claire thought about how much time she had spent in that house never knowing of the hidden chamber that was only a few minutes walk from her.

Claire began to run again. As she entered the gate to the fourth level, she began to pass the statues of people going about their daily life. Men, women, and children all frozen into stone. As Claire ran on, the gravity of the situation began to weigh on her. Tears began to fill her eyes as she thought about all of these people and the possibility that none of them could be saved.

A figure stepped into her path. It was a morloke. Claire skidded to a stop and ignited her hands. Claws came from behind and gripped her head. Searing sharp pain throbbed in her skull. She tried to grab at the hand holding her head, but her limbs had gone numb. She fell to her knees as the morloke behind her gave a chuckling growl.

* * *

Peregrin's vision had almost completely cleared as the Owl began to speak. Her voice sounded deeper and yet still familiar. He wondered why he hadn't recognized it under the mask before. It was strange to see her with white hair, yet she was unmistakable. It was indeed Elrain. Every eye in the room was turned towards her. The morloki stood dumbstruck along with their master.

"By the Authority of the Realm Jumpers, I am here to carry out your sentence," she said.

Guledel studied the elf woman for a moment. Realization spread across his face as he said, "Now I remember...you're the one who followed me into Thulcandra." He smiled and said, "Shame on you for breaking sanctions."

Peregrin pulled himself from the floor and stood next to Elrain. She was still pointing the thing in her hand towards Guledel. It was long and metallic and her pointer finger was wrapped around one of the inset pieces. Peregrin had never seen anything like it before.

"Be silent!" Elrain yelled. "You have no right to chide me."

Guledel's expression calmed. He looked at Elrain with eyes that one might almost call kind.

"Are you going to shoot me?" he said softly.

Elrain's lips trembled. "I should."

Armus stepped forward along with several other morloki. They brandished metal objects similar to Elrain's but longer and larger. Peregrin surmised they were weapons of some sort. Guledel held up his hand again. "This is between me and the Realm Jumper," he said. The morloki lowered their weapons.

Peregrin, still reeling from the news that Laemellon was dead and that his cousin might also be gone, said, "Do it Elrain. He killed Laemellon and Prisca. He deserves it."

"The hobbit is right," the elf man said as he raised his hands. "I deserve death. And if you let me go here, there is no telling what I'll do next. Perhaps I'll go back to Catrel and find your little friends who were spying on me in that museum. I'll make sure they meet the same fate as that pathetic Curator."

There was a loud bang and a flash as Elrain pulled at the trigger. Guledel staggered backwards. He looked down at the hole in his chest that was beginning to ooze blood. Then he looked up at the elf and the hobbit. At first, his eyes were filled with shock. And then his face twisted into the most sinister smile Peregrin had ever seen.

Guledel began to laugh. Peregrin was going to ask what was so funny when Elrain suddenly coughed. Her next breath was a long wheezing gasp. The hobbit turned and saw that Elrain had the same wound as Guledel. The dark red blood coming from the small wound in her chest stood in stark contrast to the white that she wore. He glanced back at the elf man and saw that he was no longer bleeding.

Elrain fell forward onto her knees. She coughed again and blood spattered the marble floor. She collapsed onto her back, her face twisted in pain.

"Elrain!" Peregrin cried. Leaning over her, he saw the wound was no longer oozing but spurting blood. "What's happened? What has he done?"

"I didn't do anything," Guledel said. "She did that to herself. I have a powerful spell upon me. Whatever another person does to me, be it supernatural or physical attack, it will be done to them as well. And I also have a few tricks up my sleeve ensuring that I can never be killed by any wound. It is pointless to contest me."

Peregrin's heart was breaking as he watched Elrain struggle to breathe.

"Find...Claeo….tell her what you know about...him…" she said.

Peregrin felt something cold on his hand. It was the metal object that had caused this wound. Elrain pushed it into his hands. From the way that Peregrin bent over Elrain it was not seen by anyone else in the room. He clutched it tight to his chest.

"Use this," Elrain said. "Setting….4."

The elf woman coughed again and more blood dripped from her lips.

"I'm so sorry," Peregrin sobbed. "This is all my fault. I trusted him. I let him deceive me. I didn't listen to Prisca. This is all my fault. Please forgive me."

Elrain took one last gasping breath and fell still. Her unseeing green eyes stared upward at the ceiling as Peregrin pulled away from her body, his hand over his mouth.

"A pity," he heard Guledel say. "She waited all these years waiting to catch me. All for nothing."

Peregrin shut his eyes. He could sense the large shape of Armus coming up behind him to detain him. The hobbit reached out with his mind once more. A flash of light. Shapes and shadows. And then he saw her. On her knees with a morloke digging his claws into her brain.

Claeo was alive and she was in Minas Tirith.

When he opened his eyes again, Peregrin saw to his astonishment that Elrain was fading away. He hadn't seen Claeo go, but had heard Prisca talk about it plenty of times. In a matter of seconds the elf woman was gone. The only sign that she had been there was the thing in Peregrin's hands and the blood stain on the floor.

This was the distraction he needed. Pergrin turned, and as he did so, he wrapped his fingers inside the inset piece of the long metal object and pulled. The object jumped in his grip, and Armus jerked backwards with a cry, black blood spurting from his shoulder. The room was filled with noise as the hobbit jumped to his feet. They were shooting at him, something similar to the things that came from Elrain's weapon. They ricocheted off the stone floor as he sped for the door.

Guledel was yelling something. Peregrin could only guess what it was. His assumptions were confirmed as he looked over his shoulder to see a horde of morloki chasing after him. But he knew this city better than they did. He ducked behind a nearby building and doubled back to the Citadel kitchen. As he skipped down the long stair tunnel, Peregrin reached out with his mind and spied Claeo. She was on the fourth level, just one level below where he would come out.

Peregrin exited the tunnel and sped down into the city. He could hear the morloki a few levels above him. With each corner he turned, he knew he was getting closer. He prayed that he would be there in time.

He rounded a corner and saw at last what he had been looking for. A morloke had Claeo by the head. Her face was deathly white and her eyes were blank and unseeing.

The morloke looked up and saw Peregrin.

The hobbit raised the object and pointed it at the creature's head.

_Breathe out_, the Voice of Eru said in his head.

Peregrin let out a slow breath. The weapon steadied. Hobbits had incredible aim and Peregrin was no acception. He pulled the trigger.

The morloke's head snapped back as a spurt of black blood sprang from between his eyes. Another morloke came from the side. Peregrin swung round and pulled the trigger again. The creature went down just like the first.

* * *

When the morloke's claws pulled from Claire's head, she fell forward into the snow. Her vision was completely gone now and her limbs felt like rubber. She was thirsty beyond words. Someone was turning her over in the snow and speaking to her. The voice sounded far away, but with each passing second, it became clearer.

As the feeling came back into her body, she felt someone touching her face like they were checking to see if she was alive. She raised a hand and flailed in panic.

"Who's there?" she asked hoarsely. Her throat had gone dry. The darkness before her eyes was slowly becoming a bright blur.

"It's me!" the person said. "It's Peregrin."

Claire stopped flailing as the hobbit grasped her hand in his. "But you were stone," Claire rasped. "How are you here?"

Claire could vaguely see his outline now. He helped her stagger to her feet, but she leaned on him as her head swam.

"I'll explain later," Peregrin said. "We need to go. Now! We have to get out of sight."

As the hobbit began to lead the bleary eyed girl down the snowy street, Claire said, "I know where we can hide."

Peregrin gripped Claire's arm to steady her as they began to walk swiftly through the snow.

"I don't know how much time we have," he said quickly. "But there is something you have to know about Guledel."

"You know his name?"

"Yes," Peregrin said. "He told it to me after he turned me back into flesh and blood. But that isn't important now. I saw the Owl."

Claire stumbled a bit. "The Owl? What was she doing there?"

"That's complicated. Suffice it to say, she...jumped forward...in time. Yet I dare say that's not the most astonishing thing."

Peregrin paused. Claire could sense that he was searching for the right words.

"It was Elrain, Claeo. The Owl was Elrain."

"But how is that possible?" Claire asked. "I saw them speak together once. They couldn't be the same person."

"I don't really understand it myself."

"Where is she?"

The hobbit hesitated again. He pulled Claire aside and the two of them stood in an alleyway, temporarily out of sight. Apparently this was too serious to discuss while walking.

"She's dead," the hobbit said. Claire heard the tremble in Peregrin's voice. "I was there when she died. She told me to find you. And she gave me this."

Claire wrapped her fingers around the metal thing that the hobbit placed in her hands. As she felt the device, the shocking truth came to her.

"This is a gun!"

"Is that what it's called," the hobbit asked innocently. "I've never seen anything like it before."

Claire squinted at Peregrin. She could almost see his face now.

"What a second," she said. "Prisca had a bullet wound in her shoulder."

Even in the dark alley, Claire could make out the hobbit's overjoyed expression.

"Prisca is alive? You've seen her?"

Claire nodded. "I found her and she had a bullet wound in her shoulder, but...you say the Owl ...Elrain, gave you this?"

"Yes, but the morloki have similar weapons. They shot at me as I escaped."

"Did they shoot Elrain as well?"

The hobbit bowed his head. "No," he said solemnly. "She shot this _gun_ at Guledel. I saw the wound it made, but then suddenly his wound was gone and Elrain was injured. He said that he has spells laid on him so that any attack or spell would be reflected back upon his attacker. He also said that he cannot be killed by a wound to his flesh."

"So the bullet injured him, but he just healed really quickly?" Claire asked.

"I suppose so. Elrain told me with her dying breath to make sure you knew this."

Claire thought for a moment. "So whatever we do to Guledel will happen to us. Be it spell or attack."

"It would seem so," Peregrin said. "But we need to start moving. I have a feeling that the morloki will be coming for us soon. We need to get to this hiding place of your's."

"Wait a moment," Claire said as she grasped the hobbit's arm. "Peregrin, Elrain's death...it wasn't your fault."

The hobbit stopped, his mouth open in amazement.

"She doesn't hold it against you. I'm sure that wherever Elrain is, she forgives you."

Claire's vision was still blurry, but from the trembling in his arm beneath her grip, she could tell that Elrain's message meant something to him. He sniffed and said a soft, "I certainly hope so."

The hobbit and the young girl exited the alley and made their way towards the third level.

* * *

Prisca had never felt more helpless in her entire life. Peregrin was in trouble and Claeo had gone after him unarmed. She had to do something! Surely she couldn't just sit there and wait. As she peered around the room, at the fireplace and the furniture, she thought about the realm spell and where Palanion might have hidden it.

"It must be somewhere," she said aloud. "Palanion knew all about Claeo. Where would I hide something that I only wanted her to find?"

Prisca went into the library. After leafing through a few books she began to pull them from the wall with her mind. Papers flew around her as she tried to go through every one of them as fast as she could. When the Library yielded no results, she walked out into the main room and lifted the furniture with a flick of her hand. No hidden spells under there.

She tore apart the bedrooms, flipping over mattresses and lifting tables and chairs.

Prisca examined every crack or loose piece in the walls, but still no result.

At last she returned to the couch, discouraged and dejected. She put her face in her free hand and cried out to Eru.

"Where can it be? I've looked everywhere!"

She glanced up and saw the book of letters sitting next to her on the couch. One line in Palanion's last letter stood out to her.

_I have hidden it in the safehouse. ...You will never find it. Only the Vessel of Fire can reach it._

"Vessel of Fire," Prisca repeated. She turned to look at the fireplace. They had examined it the night before. Apparently it had been lit by some mechanism that used a burning gaseous substance. Claeo had theorized that it had been triggered by her opening the Matthew 7:7 door. A flame like this couldn't be put out by water or smothering. It would burn indefinitely.

Prisca knelt down in front of the opening of the fireplace and looked in. On the wall on the other side of the flames was a small shelf with something sitting on it. It was hard to tell through the fire.

"Of course," Prisca gasped. She wasn't fireproof like Claeo was, but she could move things with her mind. The hobbit concentrated and the object on the shelf rose into the air and came toward her. As it passed through the flames she saw that it was a metal box. Her fingers wrapped around it and found that it was warm but not too hot to touch. She stepped back and set it on the floor.

Carefully she popped the latch and opened the lid. Before her was an envelope with a wax seal that had long since melted off and pooled in the bottom of the box. She lifted the flap and pulled out the papers inside. It was another letter, but this one was written _to_ Claeo. Prisca knew it was rude to read someone else's letter, but under the circumstances, she didn't care about that.

It was an eerie feeling to suddenly understand a prediction about her future. As Prisca read the text in her hands, tears of bitterness began to flow down her cheeks. The last page was a long narrow piece of parchment with an incantation written on it. A thin leather cord was tied to a hole in one end of the paper and trailed down into Prisca's lap. This was the realm spell. And at the top of the long paper was the spell's name.

"Gorm Methedyn"

_The Catalyst of his end_.

The words of the Lion came to mind.

_When the catalyst is revealed, you must accept what must be done._

"No!" she shouted at the stone ceiling. "I just got her back. And Laemellon is gone. I can't lose someone again! I can't!"

Prisca folded up the letter and put it back in the box. She was ready to thrust it back behind the flames when the voice of Eru sounded in her mind.

_You must accept what must be done, dear one._

"Please," she sobbed. "I don't want to lose her."

_Would you sacrifice the fate of others for your own desires?_

Prisca gritted her teeth. She wanted to ask if there was another way, but she already knew the answer. She set the box on the floor and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Alright," she breathed. "What must I do?"


	28. The Concealment

**The Concealment**

Bergil woke to find himself stuffed into a gardening shed. He was less than happy to realize what Turion had done to him. As he kicked the door open and shielded his aching eyes from the bright grey light of mid-morning, the horror of their previous encounter came back to him. His back ached from the bizarre position he had slept in and this only added to his belligerent state.

He had to reach the Citadel of course. That was where the strange light had come from the night before, so that was most likely where Turion was.

However Bergil was weaponless. He had lost his sword in the encounter with the morloki and he wasn't about rescue Turion unarmed. Bergil turned to look at the statue of the Venë Faeur. Without a second thought he walked up to it and took the sword from the stone girl's hands. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

As Bergil walked past the frozen shapes of the people of Minas Tirith, he remembered the terrible look on the Warden's face as the man had been turned to stone. A shiver went down the Bergil's spine. So many questions ran through his mind he thought he might go mad.

He was just making his way through the fourth level gate when a hobbit girl ran past him. It was of course Prisca Baggins. He had never met her before, but he had certainly heard of her. She still wore the uniform of a servant of the city and she hardly missed a step as she sped past him without a word. Bergil was so surprised at such an out of place encounter that it took him a moment to call out to her.

"Wait! Lady Prisca! What is going on? Come back!"

Bergil huffed in frustration as he ran after the hobbit. He finally came around a corner to see that she had stopped. She was embracing another hobbit who he recognized as Peregrin Took, the current Steward of the City.

And standing next to him was Claire.

"Are you alright?" Bergil heard Prisca ask her cousin. "How are you here?"

"He restored me for reasons that would take too long to explain," the elder hobbit said beaming. "He told me you were dead. Praise Eru he was wrong!"

Bergil went over to Claire and the young girl blinked up at him.

"Bergil?" she asked cautiously. She reached out for him and the young man took her hand.

"Yes it's me," the young man said, relieved to see that she wasn't stone like they had thought. He saw the matted blood on the back of her head and said, "I see you had another run in with a morloke. Are you alright? What is going on in this city?" Then he noticed the three long scars on Claire's face. They were old scars that had not been there before. "Wha- what on earth? Where did you…?"

"Bergil?" Peregrin said as he approached the young man. "By the Shire, I haven't seen you since you moved back to Minas Tirith. Your Uncle said that you had run away."

"I did," the young man said slowly. "I can explain later. But actually come to think of it, can you please tell me what is going on. Turion and I saw the entire city turned to stone."

"Who's Turion," Peregrin asked and then glancing at the sword in the young man's hand, added, "And what are you doing with Claeo's sword?"

"I - I took it from the monument. Turion knocked me out last night and went to face the morloki alone like the crazy vanaloke he is. I just woke up an didn't have a sword so..."

"Turion," Prisca said softly. "He is Laemellon's brother."

"Where is Turion," Claire asked.

"I don't know," Bergil said. "As I said, he knocked me out and pushed me in a gardening shed before the the morloki could find me."

"Guledel has him," Peregrin interjected.

Then Bergil remembered the statue and all he confusion that had come with it. He looked intently at Claire and was about to open his mouth...

Then he realized something. He was holding Claire's right hand. The hand that she lost.

"How...?"

A terrible noise sounded above them. Bergil and Claire knew it all too well and they both flinched.

"No," Claire whispered. "Please, God no."

The roar sounded again and this time Bergil gripped Claire's hand tight. He couldn't remember feeling this genuinely afraid.

"What is that," Peregrin asked.

"Dragons," Bergil said. "We encountered them on our way here."

Prisca spun around, her eyes fierce. "But there are no dragons in Middle-earth anymore!"

"That may be," Clarie said. "But these are very real. We have to get to the safehouse. It's the only place in the city where we will be safe."

"Yes, you must go," Prisca said. "But I can't go back with you."

Peregrin's brow furrowed in confusion. "Prisca, what do you mean? You can't hold off dragons and a horde of morloki on your own."

Prisca left her cousin and approached Claire. Bergil watched as the hobbit girl took the young human's hand in her's.

"I found it Claeo. I found the realm spell."

Claire's blurred eyes grew wide. "Really? Do you have it with you?"

"No. I don't dare take it out of the safehouse. We must not let Guledel get his hands on it. Everything depends on that. You must cast it. That is the only way for us to defeat him and fix all of this."

Claire paused. Bergil could tell that the wheels in her head were turning. Realization suddenly settled on her face.

"You read it didn't you? You...you know what it does."

"I do," the hobbit said solemnly. "But it is nothing like I expected. It comes with...conditions. It is more powerful than anything we have seen. That is why Guledel must not find it. It is the only way for us to defeat him and only you can cast it."

Prisca looked up at Bergil. "Get her to the safehouse. I'll hold them off to give you time."

"Don't be ridiculous," Bergil objected. "And who on earth is Guledel?"

"It would take too long to explain old friend," Peregrin said. The hobbit turned back to Prisca and said, "Guledel has eyes everywhere. He has some kind of magic that lets him see in different places around the city. If he hasn't seen where this door is yet, surely he will be watching closely now. He will find the door as soon as anyone approaches it."

"That's why I have to stay," Prisca said. "I can pull the clouds down into the city and conceal Claeo as she enters the safehouse."

"Prisca, is that even possible," Claire asked. "That would take an immense amount of power. And those morloki have guns."

"I can shield myself," the hobbit said.

Above them, they could hear a thundering boom like huge flapping wings joined by the skittering sound of morloki coming down through the fourth level.

"If I stay with you and keep them from shooting at you, will that help," Peregrin asked. Prisca looked at him with solemn eyes.

"I don't know for sure. It might."

"Then I'm staying with you," Peregrin said. He held up a strange metal object as he came to stand next to the hobbit girl. "You won't do this alone."

"Have you both gone mad?" Claire protested. "What are you -?"

"You have to trust me Claeo," Prisca said. "And trust Eru."

Claire fell silent at the hobbit's last phrase. She nodded and then began to pull Bergil away from the two hobbits.

"Wha...we can't just leave them," he protested. "They won't stand a chance."

"That doesn't matter now," Claire said. "Prisca knows what she is doing and so does Peregrin."

Everything within Bergil was against this, but it had become evident to him that he was very much out of the loop. He followed after Claire, who apparently could now see well enough to navigate on her own. As soon as he had the chance, he wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of all this.

* * *

As Bergil and Claeo disappeared into the third level, Prisca reached up and carefully removed her arm from the sling. Her left arm hung limp at first and then she slowly and shakily held up her hand.

Peregrin examined Elrain's gun. He tapped at it and a display of words and colors suddenly sprang from it and hung in the air above the weapon. He almost threw the thing on the ground in surprise, but then noticed the numbered icons.

"Setting 4," he mused. He reached up and touched the glowing number 4. There was a buzz and a ping and the display vanished.

Peregrin looked ahead of them. From just inside the gate of the fourth level, they could see the morloki coming towards them around the circle of the city. And behind them rose a huge bat-winged shape that was nearly as white as the snow it walked upon.

"Peregrin," Prisca said. "Can you see Claeo?"

The elder hobbit concentrated. He didn't dare shut his eyes from the coming monsters. Overlayed on his vision, he could see her running.

"Yes, I can see her."

"The safeplace is shielded from the gaze of all, even you. When you can no longer see her, you must tell me. Then we will surrender."

"Surrender?" Peregrin said as he raised his weapon. "But why would we -?"

Prisca slowly rose into the air. Her small hobbit feet were pointed downward and her uniform flapped in the gathering wind. "This is were you and I make our final stand," she said. "Our part in this tale is drawing to a close."

Peregrin stood in front of her, weapon at the ready. The older hobbit could feel the energy emanating from his cousin. The wind kicked up and the snow around them was caught up in a swirl of rising air. The clouds overhead began to descend.

As the morloki came into full view, Peregrin fired off a shot and the kick nearly threw him off his feet. The blast that came from setting four was wide and seemed to throw fire in a wide ring. At least 5 morloki were thrown off their feet. Still more advanced and Peregrin fired off shot after shot.

In the midst of the chaos he glanced at his cousin. Prisca was hovering roughly 5 feet in the air, arms at her sides with palms facing forward. Her eyes were wide and glowing bright as the snow and wind swirled around her. Prisca's long curly hair was caught up as the vortex around her grew stronger. The clouds descended faster. Peregrin wondered how many times this weapon of Elrain's would work.

The bullets of the morloki began to rain down on them, but they were deflected by Prisca's power. Peregrin fired from within Prisca's sheild as best as he could, but he couldn't keep them all off.

The clouds reached the ground and grey mist surrounded them. Above them Peregrin heard a terrible roar. He expected to see a dragon descend upon them, but no attack came. The terrible pounding of the wings echoed and faded behind them. It was going after Claeo and Bergil.

Peregrin concentrated and reached out with his mind. He could see her running. She was almost there.

"Run Claeo! The dragon is after you."

At his message, the young girl's paced picked up. Suddenly she stopped and Peregrin saw her raise a hand and set it upon a stone wall. And then….

"I can't see her anymore!" Peregrin yelled in the midst of the chaos.

Prisca descended. Tears flowed from her eyes now as the swirling wind began to slow.

"Put down your weapon," she instructed Peregrin. The hobbit reluctantly threw Elrain's gun to the ground and put his hands up. Prisca did the same.

Out of the clearing mist, the morloki came for them. Two of them clamped strange metal collars around the hobbits' necks. Their hands were being bound as Armus approached. It was at this point that Peregrin figured out that he was their Captain. And not only that, but the earlier wound to the creature's shoulder had not helped put Peregrin on good terms with the morloke. Armus took one look at Peregrin and then gave him a sharp kick in the stomach. The hobbit doubled over as pain spread through his body. He felt one of them grab him and force him to his feet. They were being marched back to the citadel. Peregrin prayed that Prisca had a plan. If not, no one but Eru could save them now.


	29. The Realm Spell

**The Realm Spell **

"_Run Claeo! The dragon is after you."_

Hearing Peregrin's voice had only made Claire's panic increase. Far above, she and Bergil heard the flap of huge wings. They were so close, to the door.

A slicing blast of ice shot past them on their right. The dragon couldn't see them in the fog, but Claire supposed that it could smell them.

She nearly ran into the rockface. Frantically she searched for the imprint.

"Where's the door?!" Bergil screamed in panic. The dragon's icy breath came again, this time too close for comfort.

She found the imprint. As she placed her palm on it, Bergil gave a yelp of panic as he was pushed away from the wall by the door. They both jumped inside and the door slammed shut.

For a moment they stood panting as the muted sound of the dragon outside faded away.

"I think we are safe," Claire said. "It couldn't have seen where the door is in all that fog."

Bergil was leaning against a nearby wall, his eyes wide with astonishment at their close call. Claire could see well enough now to get around but her close up vision still wasn't perfect. She began searching the room for the realm spell left by Prisca. In front of the fire place on the floor was the metal box. She picked it up and examined it as best she could.

"Can you please," Bergil blurted out at last, "Tell me what in heaven's name is going on in this city." He strode over to her and got in her face. Even with her poor vision, Claire could tell that he was mad. "And on top of that, how about you tell me how it is you are alive, Venë Faeur."

Claire hung her head. "You remembered?"

"I didn't have to," Bergil said sharply. "I saw the statue of you down on the first level. You haven't changed a bit since the day I met you during the siege seven years ago. The thing that I can't understand is why I didn't recognize you before."

"Was that a few hours after I left you at the wall's edge? When you saw the statue I mean?"

"Yes."

"Ah," Claire said. "I passed the test. That was when you recognized me. Your eyes were open. There was a sort of...spell on me that made it where no one would recognize me until I passed a test. I didn't do that until right around when you saw the statue."

Bergil looked very distraught. "What on earth are you talking about? What test? And also, you haven't answered my question."

"Which one is that?"

"How are you not dead?" he shouted frustratedly.

Claire rubbed her eyes. She had a steadily growing headache and this argument wasn't helping.

"Bergil, we don't have time for -"

"No," he said firmly. "I have been very patient, but this is it. You are going to explain to me what is happening or so help me, I will open this door and let this Guledel fellow see whatever it is you are trying to keep from him."

Bergil took a much needed breath and said, "Claire, Minas Tirith is a home to me and something is terribly wrong. I think I have the right to know what is happening. Please."

Claire looked up into his deep brown eyes. He was frustrated, but she had to admit that he was right. He had stopped shouting and was waiting patiently. She could tell that he was prepared to wait for as long as it took until he got an answer. She sat down on the couch and Bergil sat down next to her. She took a deep breath and began.

"I am what is called a Realm Jumper."

* * *

As Prisca and Peregrin entered the throne room they were shocked to see how much had changed. There were more of the strange mirrors Peregrin had seen before and they showed nearly every corner of the city. They were in front of the throne in long high rows that framed the figure who stood in their center.

Guledel turned and smiled down at the hobbits. He bent down in front of Prisca and tapped at the metal collar around her neck.

"Do you like it?" he asked casually. "I made these especially for you two. I have another one for the male vanaloke as well. They have sensors that will deliver a strong electrical shock to your nervous system. If either of you so much as think about using your abilities, you will get a strong reminder not to do so. I know you hobbits are quite resilient, but I must warn you. If you push these devices too far, the shock will turn your brains to mush." He eyed Prisca critically. "So there will be no choking anyone or bursting through walls this time."

The elf returned to his circle of glowing glass. He scanned each view with a searching eye.

"Having trouble finding something," Peregrin asked. He was trying to be smart, but his voice sounded weak as he was still recovering from a hard kick to his stomach.

Guledel ignored him. The elf was tapping on a device set on a table nearby. The view on a few of the mirrors changed. They were all looking on the third level. A rough voice sounded and Peregrin glanced to see where it came from. None of the morloki standing at attention were speaking and yet the voice was distinct. It seemed to be coming from an object that Guledel held in his hand.

"Still nothing conclusive in sectors 5 through 3," the voice said. "The asset has moved on to inspect the other side of the level."

"Continue the search," Guledel said into the the object in his hand. "I want that hiding place found. "

* * *

"And that was how I found this place," Claire said as she finished her account of the test in the dark chamber. "After that I stumbled upon Prisca. She had been shot by someone but the bullet went all the way through her shoulder so there was less risk of infection. That was when I found this."

She reached over and grabbed the book of letters. Handing it to Bergil, she said, "This is a collection of letters between Palanion, the seer who spoke about me, and his brother Guledel who is also the Abberator that Elrain was looking for. I suspect that the Owl was Elrain from the future who I suppose came to Middle-earth back when all this started and has just been hanging around all this time. It's still blowing my mind if I'm honest. Peregrin told me in the alley that she had died from her own weapon. She shot Guledel, but he has a spell on him so that any thing you do to him is reflected back. He is also physically invincible apparently."

Bergil sat across from Claire in rapt attention. She had done her best to give him the cliff notes version of who she was and her adventures in that world as well as a few details on the Realm Jumpers and the Abberator. His eyes were wide and his mouth slightly parted. Apparently he had gotten a more outrageous story than he bargained for.

"According to the letters in this book," Claire said. "There is a Realm Spell, something like the spell that let me go back in time. Palanion has left it in this safehouse for me to use." She reached down and retrieved the metal box that had been sitting on the floor in front of the fire. "I assume it is this. Prisca said she had found it and she read it. According to her it is the one and only way to stop Guledel. If we don't stop him, not only will he corrupt this world, but countless others as well."

She paused letting Bergil take it all in.

"Does that answer all your questions?"

Bergil swallowed nervously. "I suppose it does."

Claire opened the metal box and found the papers inside. She peered at the writing but couldn't make it out.

"Crap," she muttered. "My vision is still too bad to read." She looked up at the young man sitting across from her and knew that there was no other option. She held out the papers to him. "You have to read it."

"Me?" Bergil said.

"Please, Bergil," Claire implored. "The fate of this city, if not more, rests on my casting this spell."

"But if what Peregrin said was true, wouldn't that be an unwise choice?"

Claire's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"What Peregrin told you in the alley. If you cast this on Guledel won't it be cast back on you too?"

Claire hadn't thought of that until then and the realization made her heart sink in her chest. She could speculate all she wanted, but it all depended on what the Realm Spell actually did.

"Read it first," she said. "Then I'll decided what must be done."

The young man carefully took the pages from her. Bergil's hands shook nervously as he examined the text. He cleared his throat and began.

* * *

_To the Venë Faeur,_

_If you are reading this then Eru has indeed brought all to pass. Doubtless my brother has killed me and I am long dead. Yet I was bidden to write you this last note. The days ahead will not be easy for you, I fear. Guledel is more powerful than any darkness Middle-earth has yet to face. He is cunning and lays plans for long ages in sure knowledge of their fruition. He is not bound by time and elvish magic has no power over him. There is a hatred in is soul that festers like a wound._

_The Realm Spell that Eru has given me to relay to you is more powerful than anything I have ever seen. It is not bound by time and thus has power over my brother. It is a spell not woven by mortal or immortal hands, thus it will effect him. Yet its great power comes at great cost. You will have to make sacrifices; sacrifices that may be too hard for you to bear. I know that you have tasted death once before. If you choose to go through with this spell, I fear you must taste it again — a safeguard to keep my brother from casting it. For I have heard of the Realm Jumpers and how they cheat death and I have even been told of how they are able to return immediately but with a price. This is what you must do. For the sake of Middle-earth and for the sake of all the worlds._

_Since a very young age, there has been jealousy between us that Guledel himself would deny. I think that my dismissal of his power only contributed to his fall into darkness. I have seen my brother's end. He will taste of death in another land, yet it will be no mortal who takes his life. He shall meet his fate in chaos and water. A just end for one who has cursed Eru in his heart._

_Remember what you have read in the letters. I sense that they will help you in this final time. Eru has already given you the question. What you must do is the answer to that question._

_Yours,_

_Palanion_

* * *

On the final sliver of paper, was the actual spell. The title sounded familiar.

* * *

**_Gorm Methedyn, __Catalyst of His End_**

_A spell to cast upon a land_

_Stricken and marred by a single man_

_The pronouncement cast is infinite_

_Though possibilities limited_

* * *

_Four things only thou shalt command_

_Twice upon the realm. Twice upon the man._

_At the event you alone shall set_

_This need, Eru willing, will be met._

* * *

_Time and space may not be changed_

_Yet minds and writings can be rearranged_

_The dead are lost though not in vain_

_Yet many are given a different name_

* * *

_Bind this text upon your wrist_

_Speak the phrase to receive the gift._

_When once you newly taste of death._

_This spell will rest upon your head._

* * *

_Such power is not meant for man_

_Or those who dwell in a single land_

_This phrase of woe and fate doth read_

_And speak of this eternal deed:_

* * *

"_By Eru's will I come forward boldly_

_To take upon what is destined for me._

_Fire, shadow, snow, and mist_

_I accept the burden of the Catalyst."_

* * *

Bergil lowered the paper and stared at it feebly. Claire's breathing became shallow.

"What does this mean," he asked. "_When once you newly taste of death..._Is it saying you have to die?"

"I already died once," Claire said softly. "I supposed have to die again to take the spell upon myself in order to cast it."

"But that's madness," Bergil said. "If you die, who will be here to defeat Guledel?"

"I can come back. It's...It's what Palanion was referring to in his letter. I can come back immediately, but with a cost."

"And that is?"

Claire looked up at him. His eyes were wide with concern. "I only have three days in Middle-earth," she said. "And then I can never return. It's called the Ravenholm Option."

Bergil pulled a face. "What do you mean never return?"

"Like never ever," Claire clarified. "If I understand this right...In order for me to cast the spell I _have_ to use the Ravenholm Option."

"No you don't," Bergil said. "We can find another way. The King will return. We - we can muster an army. We can call on the ents for help or maybe the dwarves. They rallied once to defeat an enemy. Why wouldn't they do it again?"

"But it wasn't armies that ultimately defeated Sauron," Clarie said. "It was the deed of one hobbit. Frodo turned the tide. He was the one who defeated the darkness. I have to do this Bergil."

"And what are you going to pronounce upon him and Middle-earth?" the young man countered. "Because whatever you do to him will be done to you."

"We can't imprison him," Claire said. "I suppose…" Her voice trailed off as Bergil's eyes grew wide with realization.

"You're going to kill him aren't you? You are going to pronounce death on him. Then you will die too, Claire."

"Don't you think I know that," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "I love this world more than anything. In my own world, I dreamt of nothing but coming here and now...now I have to make a choice that will mean I can never come back."

Claire stood up from the couch and began to pace. "I don't want to do this," she said brokenly. "I long for this place when I am in my own world. I certainly don't want to cast a spell that will forever separate me from it. And I certainly don't want to die. But death...oh God. Death won't even work will it. He's invincible! I could...I could..."

She stopped. Bergil rose from the couch and stood before her. She had the most peculiar look on her face. It was like horror and wonder all mixed together.

"Oh dear God," she whispered. "Of course. The answer."

She looked up at Bergil. She took the letter from his hand. Claire glanced through it, her eyes straining but able to now make out the words.

"Chaos and water," she whispered.

She dropped the letter and picked up the book. Bergil watched in confusion as she flipped to a page and then stopped. All the pieces were falling into place so fast she could hardly keep her balance.

She shut the book with a loud thump and threw it on the couch. Looking up at Bergil, she reached out and took the spell from his hands. She examined the long strip of paper and a smile spread across her face.

"You are absolutely right, Bergil son of Beregond," she said. "And I know exactly what we need to do."

"What is that?" Bergil asked anxiously.

"What has already been done." Claire chuckled regretfully. "Time Travel. Why did I ever want to get mixed up in stuff like this?

She looked up at the young man before her and said slowly, "I know exactly what to do to Guledel. Because I just figured it out. I don't know all the details yet, but we have one advantage over him that I don't think he expects."

Claire leaned in close to the nervous young man before her.

"I know exactly _who_ he is."


	30. The Second Death

**The Second Death**

The moment Claire stepped out of the safehouse, she knew that the clock was ticking. In the now clear snowy streets ahead of her she saw the huge distinct footprints of the dragon. She shivered. The doubt and overwhelming fear of what she was doing began to engulf her.

"This is crazy!" she thought. "What if you're wrong Claire? What if this doesn't work? What if you die and use Ravenholm but then you are killed again? You will have done all this for nothing."

Behind her, Bergil stood in the doorway. He wasn't helping with her nervousness.

"Claire, Claire come back," he said as he glanced at the huge footprints in the snow. "I know you think you have to do this, but surely there is another way. Just think about this."

"I have, Bergil," she said resolutely as she trudged through the snow. "And I have chosen to do this." She glanced behind her and saw him begin to take a step after her.

"No!" she said, her eyes glowing fiercely. "I have to do this. Don't follow me, please. Promise me you won't follow."

Bergil hesitated.

"You know who I really am Bergil. Please trust me."

Claire turned, her eyes cast away from the young man standing in the stone doorway. She stopped about thirty feet from the door. The city was deathly silent and the falling snow created a soft white noise that felt louder than it should have. She looked down at the strip of paper in her hand.

"Am I right?" she asked Eru. "Have I figured out the answer?"

_Yes._

Tears began to stream down Claire's face. Things were making sense now and the truth hurt more than she had imagined it would.

"I am afraid," she said. "I can't do this alone, Eru."

_I am with you now as I was with you in the dark chamber. Do you trust me?_

Claire looked up at the grey clad sky and then shut her eyes. Just the thought of what she was about to do filled her with dread. The prospect of dying wasn't very nice either. This was a dark place to be in; on the edge of a decision that would take away all she held dear. And even as Claire thought about it, she realized how selfish she was. Her desires were not what mattered here. Everything depended on this - the fates of multiple worlds, not just Middle-earth. And if Eru had been with her before, He was with her now. Everything in her mind pushed against it, yet everything in her heart and soul held firmly amidst the storm in her head.

"I trust You," she said softly.

Claire rolled up her sleeve, wrapped the long strip of parchment around her right wrist, and used the thin leather cord to bind it. The words of the spell spiraled down her arm.

"Claire please," Bergil called. "There has to be another way! At least take your sword. Don't just walk out there defenseless."

The wind began to pick up. In the distance they heard the roar.

* * *

Prisca wasn't sure how to process what she was seeing. In one of the many mirrors that Guledel had been looking into, Claeo had suddenly appeared. She was walking forward, her arms at her sides. The realm spell paper was bound around her wrist. The hobbit's throat tightened with emotion. Was this really going to happen?

"Bring up the audio," Guledel said to the morloke at his side. Armus tapped at another device on the table and suddenly they could hear. The voice of a Bergil called out urging Claeo to come back. But the name he used wasn't Claeo.

It was _Claire._

All at once the pieces fell together. The voice that Losswen had heard…it was his voice calling for Claeo to run.

"The Asset has been alerted," Arums said.

A chilling roar sounded and from Claeo's reaction, Prisca knew what was happening. The dragon was coming. It was coming for Claeo.

"A fixed point," Prisca whispered, recalling words from out of the past. "She stands ready."

* * *

Claire looked down at the text written on the paper tied around her wrist. "By Eru's will I come forward boldly to take upon what is destined for me," she read aloud.

Then the dragon came into view. The creature was on the far edge of the third level. Its eyes were wide and searching.

"Claire! Get back in the safehouse!" Bergil called. "Claire this is madness!"

"Water, shadow, dust, and mist…"

The dragon's gaze fell on Claire. For a moment it stood processing what it saw and then it lumbered forward on all fours, roaring louder than either of them had heard before.

"Claire! It's coming! Run Claire!" Bergil screamed. "RUN!"

The dragon gave off one final roar as cold flames began to stir in its jaws.

As she stood before the icy blast, tears streaming down her face, Claire felt a bizarre sort of peace. In a strange way, she understood that this was what she was always meant to do.

"I accept the burden of the Catalyst."

* * *

Claire's eyes popped open as she gasped in a lung full of air. She was lying in water, but her face was just above the surface. She tried to sit up but couldn't. Her arms could move, but nothing else seemed to work. Her body felt numb. Yet she didn't panic. She was lying in the Middle-earth world pool in the Wood Between the Worlds.

A face leaned over her. It was Yavanna. The Vala's dark green hair fell around her shoulders as she looked down at the young girl.

To Claire's surprise, her own mouth and voice worked. "Why can't I move," she asked feebly.

"You lie between life and death," Yavanna said. The vala stretched out her hand to Claire. "It is here that you must make your choice. Take my hand and you may return to Middle-earth in 40 days. If you refuse, you may return now, yet that comes with sacrifice."

"I understand," Claire said. She took a deep breath as the weight of her next words settled in her mind. "I refuse."

Yavanna smiled. "You amaze me Claire Bernhart. That one so small and finite should shake the earth by a single choice."

"Eru once sacrificed Himself for me," Claire said staring up at the bright green canopy above her. "How can I not do the same for my friends?"

Yavanna reached down and placed her hand on Claire's cheek. She smiled proudly.

"I was an honor. Farewell."

Claire sank beneath the surface of the water. As she decended she could still see the rippling form of Yavanna looking down on her. As the darkness enveloped her and she broke through the membrane of the world, something began to happen.

And then...there was light.

* * *

Prisca squinted as Guledel's mirror blazed with white light. Claeo was thrown back and out of view. One of the dragon's wings obscured what they were seeing. Guledel tapped on the device in front of him and brought up a different view. Peregrin gasped in horror.

There lying in the snow, was Claeo. Or rather what was left of her. The creature's icy blast had cut her clean in two. From her left shoulder down to her right hip was a long charred diagonal separation of her body. Her arms were spread out beside her and on her right arm Prisca clearly saw the realm spell paper.

She had done it. Prisca bowed her head as her vision blurred with tears.

Peregrin was screaming something at Guledel. Some kind of obscenity that was appropriate for this moment. Prisca looked up, but not at Peregrin or Guledel. Her eyes were fixed on the image of Claeo. Not because of the horror of her close friend lying dead, but rather what was happening to Claeo's right arm.

The realm spell paper was no longer there.

* * *

Bergil threw up his hands to shield himself as the dragon's blast sliced through Claire. When the light faded and he lowered his arms, the sight before him was almost too terrible for words. He wanted to run forward and see if there was something he could do, but the dragon was standing over her now. Its pale eyes rested on him as he stood in the doorway. It snarled at him and cold fire began to rise in its jaws again.

Suddenly all the air around Bergil and the dragon seemed to be drawn towards Claire's body. There was a buzzing in his ears and the throb of his own heartbeat sounded like a banging drum. There was a loud _BANG_ accompanied by an explosion of white hot light and heat. Bergil was thrown off of his feet and backward into the living room of the safehouse. His head slammed into the hard floor; his vision blurred and his ears rang. As his hearing cleared, Bergil heard a sound that he knew all too well. The dragon was screaming.

The young man pulled himself up and staggered to the open door. The beast was burning away, almost melting before his eyes, just as the first dragon had done when Turion had burned it. The snow around its feet had been vaporized into steam and as its head hung back for one final shriek, it collapsed in a heap of bones and skin and disappeared into the mist. There was a hissing sound as the remains of the beast wasted away to nothing and Bergil knew that it was gone for good.

He wasn't sure what had happened. The days since he had met Turion on the shores of the sea had been odd indeed, but now he was beyond comprehension. Claire's story had been outrageous, yet it fit with everything he had experienced. From meeting her as she lay wounded after the Siege to the celebration when he had hailed her as a trollslayer. He had been just a child then, but it was all so clear in his memory. And this same girl had traveled with him and if he was honest, he had grown fond of her. It seemed strange to think of all this now as he stood in the doorway staring out into the mist.

The wind kicked up and the steam from the now bare cobblestone street began to move away.

That was when he saw her. Standing on the bare stone street, in the epicenter of whatever had just taken place, stood Claire. Bergil could hardly believe his eyes. She stood staring at her burning hands. The Venë Faeur had been known to have burning hands, so this didn't catch Bergil too off guard. What was surprising was the rest of her. She was glowing with not a blue, but a white aura that swept up her form like tongues of pale fire. Her hair had come free of its braid and was caught up, floating behind her head as if she were under water. Claire's eyes were like two white hot coals and the light from them seemed to bleed into the veins beneath the skin around her eyes.

As he drew even closer, he noticed that the long strip of paper that had been bound around her wrist was gone. In its place was writing, not etched on paper, but now etched onto Claire's skin like a tattoo. There was a buzzing heat in the air as if he were standing next to an open oven. Bergil felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. She had been dead. Completely torn asunder. Yet now here she was standing before him, her body and her clothes completely unscathed.

Bergil stood in front of Claire, her own sword still gripped tightly in his hands. She looked up at him with wide eyes, looking equally as amazed as he did. The fire around her shifted from white to blue and the heat that he had felt dissipated. Bergil stepped up to Claire and presented the blade in his hands to the fiery young woman before him. It was hers after all. She took it and the blue fire from her hand ran along the metal shaft.

"Claire?" he said. "What...what is this?"

"I don't know," she said. "I think-"

There was a loud bang from their left. Claire's head jerked back suddenly and she staggered backwards. Her jerking motion had been accompanied by a metallic _clunk _followed by a soft tinking noise on the ground at their feet.

Claire blinked a few times and reached up to touch her forehead. It showed no sign of injury. Bergil and Claire turned to see a lone morloke standing in the street. Its eyes were wide with fear as it stared at the flame clad girl who had just taken a bullet to the head. Claire moved fast; faster than Bergil ever expected. The morloke lost its head as the young girl's flaming sword flashed.

As Bergil stood stunned at what had just happened, Claire leaned down and picked up the morloke's weapon.

"It's not safe out in the open," Claire said. She shoved the strange weapon into Bergil's hands. "Hold this, but be careful with it." She began to walk eastward with determined steps. Still stunned beyond words, Bergil followed after her.

But before Claire walked more than 30 feet down the street, she came to a stop in front of a house. She chuckled to herself and glanced back at where the door was.

"All this time… it was so close," she said. The fire around her faded and then without hesitation, she opened the front door and walked in. Bergil followed her inside.

"This was the house of a friend of mine," she said as she shut the door. "I'm sure she won't mind us taking shelter here."

Bergil stood awkwardly in living room, the long metal weapon still clutched in his hands. "I know Losswen, remember," he said, at last finding his voice. "I was with her during the procession into the city after the fall of Sauron."

"Oh yes," Claire said softly. "I had forgotten about that."

Bergil walked up to Claire and gazed at her in amazement.

"Are you hurt?" he asked. "Did that morloke shoot you in the head?

Claire rubbed her forehead. "I suppose it did. Elrain said this might happen. She said that using Ravenholm enhanced the abilities of a Realm Jumper but…" She smacked herself on the forehead. Bergil jumped a step back in surprise at her sudden enthusiasm. "Of course," she cried. "Before all this, my burning hands were indestructible. Now all of me burns...so all of me is indestructible. That morloke shot me in the head and the bullet bounced off of me like I was Superman!"

Claire's eyes were wide and excited now. "This is incredible. Bergil, we have to test this. Punch me in the face or something. Or.. or shoot me again."

"What?" he gawked. "I could never-"

Bergil stopped when he noticed Claire staring at something behind him. He turned and saw that they were both looking back into the kitchen of the house.

There stood Losswen. A cup of tea was in her hands and poised just below her lips. She had been about to take a sip when she had been turned to stone. The tea in her cup was long cold as well as the fire that the kettle had been sitting on. Claire walked up to the stone girl and touched her face. Bergil's heart ached. For a moment he had forgotten about what had happened to the people of the city.

At last Claire turned back to him. Her lips were drawn tight in anger and tears were welling in her eyes. She sniffed and looked up at him…

...and then her eyes grew wide in astonishment. Her jaw dropped.

"What on earth..." she said.

Claire pushed past Bergil and walked back into the living room. She was staring at the seam between the wall and the ceiling. Claire stretched up her hand and reached for something, but there was nothing there.

"What are you…" he started to say, but was cut off by Claire swiping her sword up at the invisible thing. There was a distinct crunch and Claire jumped back now staring at whatever it was on the floor. She reached down and picked up the thing. There was weight in her hands, but still nothing there.

"I can't believe it," Claire said incredulously. "It's a camera."

As suddenly as she said the word, a black metal thing appeared in her hands. Bergil gasped in surprise. He glanced up and now saw that something like a dark vine ran along the ceiling where Claire had been looking. It had been connected to the now broken "camera" in her hands. Why hadn't he seen it before?

* * *

The view of Claeo's body had vanished from the mirrors around Guledel. There had been a bright light and then nothing. Several other mirrors had gone dark.

Guledel was only slightly shaken. He stood quite still as now another view went dark. That particular picture had been of the inside of Losswen's house. How he was able to see in there, Prisca didn't know. But that was not the most pressing issue at the moment. They had just seen Bergil and Claeo before the mirror went dark. Peregrin had almost laughed when he saw them. Prisca wasn't as surprised.

The elf turned to Armus and said, "Have the others fall back to the fourth level. Monitor the network closely. If they are taking out cameras, we can pinpoint their location. But we don't make a move until we know precisely where they are."

Armus nodded and strode off. Guledel glanced at Peregrin and Prisca who stood nearby. They were still bound with their hands behind their backs and those strange metal collars around their necks. He turned back to the blank mirror in front of him.

"The game is just beginning."


	31. The Arsenal

**The Arsenal**

As Claire stared at the hunk of plastic and metal in her hands, cold dread rose up in her chest. Guledel had cameras in Minas Tirith. Now what Peregrin had been saying made more sense. How much had Guledel seen? How many cameras were there?

"Claire?" Bergil said, trying to snap her out of deep thought. "I don't understand. What's a cam-era? And why couldn't I see it?"

"He's been watching us," she said staring off into space. "Guledel has been watching us through this… Wait, what?" She looked back at Bergil inquisitively. "You couldn't see it?"

"Not until you said what it was," the young man replied.

Claire thought for a moment. "Guledel must have put some sort of spell on tech like this. So that no one would recognize or see cameras or wires unless they knew what they were. That's just a guess. Maybe that's how Losswen never saw this mounted on the ceiling of her own house. If that's true there could be more."

She glanced up at where the camera had been and noticed a fine wire coming down from it and snaking through the door frame.

"It's hard wired," she muttered.

"But how does he watch us through that thing?" Bergil asked. "Is it magic?"

Claire knew that time was of the essence. She now had just under 72 hours to fix things and she knew that would require Bergil's help.

"Ok look," Claire said, fixing him with a serious gaze. "This has just gotten more complicated so I will try to explain. The weapons the morloki have are called guns. They fire projectiles called bullets. If you get hit with one, it can be as bad as getting hit with an arrow or worse. Luckily we have one of their guns, so we aren't at too much of a disadvantage. This-" She held up the hunk of broken plastic in her hand. "Is a camera. It's a device that lets Guledel see stuff from far away. Like a calling stone but more….casual. Anyway, this camera was connected by a wire."

Claire glanced back at the wire and said, "That wire connects to something. We need to find it. I have a feeling that there is more going on here than just guns and cameras. Remember how I said I was from another world? Well Guledel has been to other worlds. This stuff... the guns and cameras... they aren't from my world, but they are not from around here either."

"But if he has been watching us," Bergil said. "Why doesn't he send more morloki down here right now to kill us?"

"I don't know" Claire said. "Guledel has been planning this for a long time. He's not dumb. He's like Morlyg. He plays the long game."

Claire cracked the door to Losswen's house open and peered outside. There wasn't a soul on the street.

"Either they are waiting for us just out of sight…" she stuck her head out a bit more. Still nothing moved. "Or they are watching to see what we do." Across the street, she spied another camera. The ones mounted outdoors were painted white to blend in. Spell or not, you wouldn't be likely to see them if you weren't looking. Bergil protested as she stepped out into the snowy street.

Claire ignited herself with blue flame. If she was going to stand in the open she should at least make sure she was bulletproof.

Suddenly the camera she had been approaching sparked and a thin line of smoke spouted from it's end. Bergil walked up next to her as he cautiously examined the area. Claire stared up at the smoking camera. It hadn't done that until…

Claire grabbed Bergil's arm and said, "Back inside now!"

The two rushed back into Losswen's house. Claire began to run up the stairs and the young man came behind her.

"Can you please tell me what is going on! I've had to take in enough today as it is, but now I am utterly confused."

As the young girl began to rummage through the drawers of Losswen's dresser, she asked, "Bergil, do you know what a magnet is?"

"A what?"

"A magnet. It's a stone or ore that has a magnetic field that attracts things to it. It's hard to explain. Call it a magical force if that makes you feel better. Anyway, electronics like that camera and the one outside don't do well against strong magnetic fields."

She opened Losswen's nightstand drawer and finally found what she was looking for. Breaking off a bit of thread with her teeth, Claire threaded a needle and then held it up in front of her with her right hand. The iron needle dangled freely at the end of the fine thread.

Claire ignited herself again. As the blue flames licked up the upraised fingertips of her left hand, the needle quivered and then…

Bergil watched in wonder as the needle pulled on the thread at an almost completely horizontal angle. Claire began to laugh as the metal point dangled in front of her nose.

"Again," Bergil said wearily. "What on earth is going on?"

"This is incredible," Claire said. "My flames must give off some kind of strong magnetic field." She focused on the needle and as she bent her hand towards it, the small piece of metal followed her fingertips. "That must be why that camera blew out. I'm a walking talking EMP."

Bergil stared at her bewildered. "Does an E – M – P produce heat?"

"Why do you ask that," Claire asked.

"Because the snow around you melted when you were all… you know… on fire. And that dragon burned away like when Turion breathed fire on the first dragon. I know that the Venë – er, you have flaming hands, but the stories said that you didn't actually burn anything."

Claire let the thread go and the needle stuck to her finger tips like a magnet. As she held the small iron thing in her fingertips, a thought came to her. A crazy thought.

"The stories are correct," she said, a grin slowy spreading across her face. "But I wonder…

She placed the needle in her open palm and ignited her hand. Bergil followed her gaze and stared at the needle with her, though he backed a pace or two back. Claire focused hard, all the while willing the needle to burn.

"Eru, if it's your will, let it become hot," she said in her mind.

Slowly, imperceptibly at first yet increasing with every moment, the needle began to glow red. Claire gave a gasp of a laugh as it began to glow white. Bergil stared in amazement as the fire from Claire's hand began to turn from blue to pale white. The heat intensified and Claire was practically giddy as the needle began to lose its shape. Bergil came closer and could hardly believe his eyes as metal began to liquefy. The needle dripped from her flaming palm and the hissing molten drops stuck to the wooden floor and began to burn the wood.

"Amazing," Claire said at last as her flame dissipated. "But this is just… well it's crazy."

"That's an understatement," Bergil said softly.

"No, but that's not it," Claire said excitedly. "Metals like iron don't melt until thousand degree temperatures. But you and I aren't singed at all. Did you feel any heat?"

The young man shook his head.

Claire looked up at him excitedly. "One more test. And you will need to trust me."

The young girl left the room and sped down to the kitchen. Bergil followed her. Stepping around the statue of Losswen, Claire retrieved a tea cup from a nearby cupboard. She found the water pitcher and filled the cup halfway. She beconed for Bergil to approach. Taking his hand, she set the tea cup in his open palm. Then she cradled his hand in both of hers. His hands separated her's from the teacup.

"Do you know what a thermal burn is," Claire asked Bergil as she began to focus on the cup.

"I – I don't…" She could feel him start to pull away.

"Hey," she said gently. "It's ok. Don't look at your hand. Look somewhere else and concentrate." Bergil looked anxiously up at the ceiling as she said, "A thermal burn is when something burns from temperature alone. No fire, no kindling. Just heat."

"Alright," he said nervously.

"Do you feel any heat?"

Bergil paused as if he needed time to determine that. He gave a bemused frown. "I feel warmth, but not any burning."

Claire glanced down at her hand and smiled. Bergil looked as well and nearly pulled his hand away.

"No no no," she said holding his hand steady. "Look at that!

The water in the teacup was boiling. The boiling increased and a drop sloshed out and fell on Bergil's wrist. He gave a cry and jumped back. The cup fell and shattered. Steam from the water rose from the floor at their feet.

"Water boils at 212 degrees Fahrenheit," Claire said excitedly. "But your hand only felt warmth when the cup started to heat…from the water." She paused her eyes growing wide. "I can burn things specifically. Not just anything I contact, but whatever I wish. Whatever is in range. I am now literally a Vessel of Fire." Her eyes were wide with excitement as she tried to wrap her mind around this new ability.

"What does that mean?" Bergil said.

"It means," Claire said with a wry smile. "We are going to find where those cameras connect to. And then we are burn this elf's operation to the ground."

* * *

Two morloki dragged Turion into the throne room. He was bound hand and foot with his wings tied tightly to his back. He wore a collar similar to the ones that the hobbits wore. He slumped on the floor next to Peregrin and Prisca who stood with their hands still tied behind them. Morloki gaurds stood nearby to make sure they didn't try anything.

In front of them Guledel and Armus examined the mirrors. Several of the mirrors where now dark. On the table before them, Armus now spread a map that he marked with a pen. As each new mirror went dark, he made a note. Turion lay motionless beside Peregrin as the elf and the morloke deliberated. Minutes passed and soon Guledel stepped away from the map. Peregrin could tell he was angry but trying to hide it.

"Your friends are quite clever," Guledel said. "They know how to throw off a scent it would seem."

Turion stirred at last and Peregrin saw that the poor vanaloke's striped skin was bruised along his neck and one of his eyes was beginning to swell.

"Those monsters," Peregrin muttered. Armus turned and glared at Peregrin. The hobbit could tell that Guledel was in charge, because if the elf wasn't, Armus would have ripped Peregrin's throat out by now.

Turion pulled himself up enough to look at Guledel.

"Ah! So glad you could join us," the elf said as he looked down at the prostrate vanaloke. "Have you recovered from the shock of your sister's death?"

Turion growled and his claws began to extend into long blades. For the first time, Armus actually smiled and raised a small device in his hand. Turion cried out in pain as the collar gave off a fast clicking sound. The vanaloke jerked and writhed on the floor. At last the clicking stopped and Turion lay still, his breathing shallow.

"There will be none of that," Guledel said coldly. "And that was the lowest setting. Don't make us use the next higher."

"Why are you doing this," Prisca asked. "I know your past, Guledel. I read the letters from your brother. I read about what happened to Melda. What could possibly drive you to-?"

Searing pain spread down Prisca's neck as her collar pulsed. She doubled over and for a moment, she nearly vomited. The elf's face was twisted in rage. He leaned down and hissed in Prisca's hobbit ear.

"Never speak that name again."

The elf rose and said in a calmer tone, "And if you have truly read my brother's letters, then you already know why I'm here."

He walked over to the wall of glowing panels and said, "I'm here to kill the Venë Faeur, in my own world; the one place, according to my late brother, where I will not be defeated."

"Seems that isn't working out so well for you," Peregrin said with a smirk.

Armus raised the collar remote and the hobbit added quickly, "But she's still trapped down in the city. Why bother with us?"

"You think the Venë Faeur coming back from death was a victory?" the elf asked smoothly. He glanced back at the hobbit girl. "Why don't you tell him, Prisca? Tell him what happened. Tell him what Claeo did."

Peregrin shot Prisca a concerned look. "What is he talking about?"

The hobbit girl hung her head. "She did it for us. She knew the consequences."

"Even so," the elf said. "She's done half of my work for me. You see Peregrin, Claeo used a loophole known to the Realm Jumpers as the _Ravenholm Option_. She was able to come back instantly from death, but now only has 3 days left. Then she must leave Middle-earth, never to return. She will be permanently banished from this world. And then I will be free to rule it as I please. If you remember, my brother said that I would die in a world other than my own and that the Venë Faeur would be my undoing. My days of causing chaos in other worlds are done. I'm here to stay... at least for a time. And when the Venë Faeur is gone, not even you can stop me from taking what is rightfully mine."

"And what is that," Prisca asked.

"Control," Guledel said. "The elves once had control over these lands. We ruled as the firstborn of Illuvatar for ages. From a time before the Sun and Moon. But Illuvatar abandoned us. He has lost the right to rule over these lands. The Age of Men indeed! The Age of Men will meet its end here at its capital."

Guledel smiled down at the three of them.

"So you see...It doesn't matter if your precious Claeo has returned from death or not. I have already won."

* * *

Confusing the camera network hadn't been that hard. Claire had watched enough nature shows to know how to confuse a predator tracking a scent. As they ran along the city streets, Claire's fire fried cameras and shorted out wires as they went, she and Bergil began to double back several times. A view of their path on a map would have looked very confusing with branching routes that led to nowhere. Soon a sizeable portion of the city was camera-less and there was no way to know where in that area they were.

"I still can't believe this was all here," Bergil said gesturing to one of the cameras. The connecting wires snaked around every corner like vines. "It's very unsettling to know the entire city was being watched without us knowing."

"I know," Claire said. "Whatever spell he used, it was effective."

At last Claire and Bergil doubled back to a wide round courtyard they had been in before. The wires seemed to converge on one building on the far side. As they approached the building Claire saw more cameras, one of them mounted on top of a large tall statue in the center of the open space. The statue, set on a column of stone, was of a tall hooded figure with their arms folded within their robe.

"Who is that supposed to be," she asked, looking up at it.

"I can't remember," Bergil sighed. "We learned about the statues in the city when I was young, but I think it's some war hero or captain. Apparently someone not important enough for me to remember."

Claire chuckled at Bergil's flippant knowledge of Middle-earth history. It was likely that she knew more than him about his own world and that alone was enough to make her smile.

In the building where the wires seemed to congregate, Claire and Bergil found a very normal looking storage shed. Yet as the wires snaked through the door and along the ceiling, they disappeared into a crack in the wall. Claire ceased her fire so as not to damage anything they might find, and ran her fingers along the stone. One pushed in with a click and a hidden panel slid open.

The room behind the panel was filled with screens. Each one of a different view from that level of the city and several other places of note. Each monitor was on a separate metal arm of a huge mount that held them all in place. It looked like many of them could be moved around as needed. There was of all things, what looked like a computer keyboard sitting on a table. Claire could hardly believe her eyes.

"What sorcery is this?" Bergil asked in wonder.

Claire tapped the enter key on the keyboard and a menu popped up in the right corner of one of the monitors. Claire had always been good at figuring out computer interfaces and she smiled as she began to recognize some familiar icons and menu items.

Bergil wandered off to explore the rest of the room while Claire began to scroll through the complex interface. She soon found a screen that showed the wiring of all the cameras in the city. She selected one and pulled up a view of the front gate. Another showed a live feed of her staring at the screens. She jumped back a bit when she came face to face with herself. She glanced up and saw the camera on its own arm amongst the other monitors. For all she knew, Guledel was probably watching her right now.

Yet it was the last camera view she pulled up that was the most interesting. It showed a view of the throne room. She leaned in close as the somewhat hazy image of Prisca, Peregrin, and Turion glowed before her eyes. It was good to see that they were alive. Less than good to see that they were quite captured.

Guledel stood before his wall of monitors, no doubt looking at her at this very moment. He was tall and elf-like in the normal ways, yet his short hair and strange clothes caught her off guard. So this was the infamous Abberator? The one who had caused so much chaos across the worlds. The one who had murdered both Laemellon and Elrain. Claire shivered at the thought.

"Claire, you should come see this," Bergil called. Claire pulled herself away from the image and walked over to where he was. He had found another hidden doorway, yet this room contained something _very_ different.

From floor to ceiling were racks upon racks of weapons and armor. There were at least 30 guns, long rifles like the morloki had, plus several hand guns that looked a bit more futuristic than their longer counterparts. The armor was quite futuristic too. In the far corner were boxes filled with grenades and leaning against one shelf was an enormous rocket launcher. One shelf contained a few strange round objects that had metal nodes on the insides. Some kind of energy coils Claire thought.

"Holy crap," Claire breathed. "There's enough weapons here to outfit a small army."

She picked up one of pistols and examined it. It was pretty basic. She looked down the sights and flipped off the safety. Picking an empty corner of the room, she fired. The gun fired a bullet that smacked into the wall with a thunk. The sound of the discharge was deafening and Bergil protested loudly for several minutes before either of them was able to hear again.

"Are you mad? What are you doing?" he yelled.

Claire walked over to the wall and picked up the mashed bullet. "This is different than what we have in my world," she said. "These guns have no visible place to load them and yet they fire bullets."

Suddenly the bullet in her hand vanished. It didn't dissolve or vaporize. It simply vanished. Claire had seen a lot of science fiction. She couldn't help feeling that the bullet hadn't really been a bullet, but rather the projection of one. Some kind of hardlight projection that lasted as long as it needed to in order to cause damage before vanishing. That would eliminate the need for reloading and leave no evidence behind.

"Fascinating," she said. "These weapons are very advanced." She moved to examine the armor. It looked like a mix between Kevlar and iron. The included helmet looked like some kind of modified welder's mask. She picked it up and saw what looked like a manufacturer's mark on the inside.

Claire had what she might have called the beginnings of a plan when she had walked out of the safehouse door. As she and Bergil had made their way further up into the city, the plan began to take on more shape. Now as she looked at the helmet in her hands, the plan was finally coming together.

"Bergil," she said. "Does this helmet fit you?"

The young man set down the gun they had gotten from the morloke and took the metal headgear from her. He placed it on his head a bit hesitantly. It fit perfectly.

Bergil took it off and began to say something, but Claire held up a hand.

"This place is probably bugged," she whispered. "It's very likely that he can hear every word we say." They both looked around warily.

A sly grin spread across Claire's face. "But I think I can fix that. Guledel's proven himself to be a drama queen. So we are going to put on a show."

Bergil smiled. "What did you have in mind?


	32. The Endgame

**The Endgame**

Peregrin looked on in wonder as Claeo appeared in one of Guledel's mirrors. There she was, looking out at them as casually as if she were sitting in front of them.

"There you are," Guledel said to the image of the young girl. Yet for all his satisfaction, Peregrin detected a hint of worry in his voice. "What is the location of that camera?"

Armus examined the mirror and then the map. He sucked in sharply through his teeth in a sort of angered hiss. He pointed to the place and Peregrin thought Guledel might become unhinged.

"That is the third level arsenal," the elf spat. "How did they find it?"

When there was no answer from the morloke Guledel stopped and took a deep breath. Glancing back at the screen, he said, "It matters not. Is the other asset in position?"

The image of Claeo changed. It looked like someone was calling her away and she left the view.

"Shall I send a garrison down there, Master," Armus asked. "We know where they are. We should strike."

"Send them down, but tell them to hold back on the fifth level till we give the command. I want to be absolutely sure of her location before we strike."

Minutes passed as Guledel and Armus watched the screen intently. Then the picture flickered. For only a moment it went dark, but then came back. The picture was a bit hazy, but it was definitely the same view. Claeo was still out of sight.

"They are still there," Guledel said thoughtfully.

A few more minutes passed and Armus became impatient. He looked like he was about to ask a question when the mirror flashed again and went dark. Not a moment later it came back, but this time Claeo returned to where she had been. She sat in front of the mirror, her eyes fixed directly at them.

Guledel grinned. "Ready the launcher."

"Sir?" Armus said hesitantly. Guledel gave him a stern look and the morloke stepped away to carry out the order.

Then Claeo spoke. Her voice was tinny and distant, but still discernable. Peregrin, Prisca, and Turion looked on as the young girl began.

"Hello Guledel," she said slowly. "By now you are aware that we have discovered your copious amount of weapons down here. Well done. Smuggling so much into this world must have taken a lot of work." Her tone was patronizing and her words slow and smooth. Peregrin knew Claeo. She was milking this for all it was worth.

"I'm also very impressed at the live camera system you have rigged up here. Video and audio feeds for the entire city. And all hardwired no less. Also very impressive."

"I would think it's more impressive than what you have experience with," Guledel said with a smooth calculating tone. "I must say that -"

"Sorry," Claeo said, cutting him off. "We don't have audio from you, so I can't hear what you are saying." She smiled and Peregrin saw the skin on Guledel's neck flush in anger.

"Anyway," the young girl continued. "I just wanted to let you know that everything Palanion said is true. You are right to be afraid of me." She paused and leaned in closer. "I have been sent by Eru to be the catalyst of your end. I read the letters you wrote your brother. Whatever happened to him? Did you kill him? If so, that was a bit childish don't you think? Especially after he tried to warn you that the Nolmirë would only bring you more pain."

Armus returned to Guledel's side. "The missile is ready sir."

"Do you think that Melda would approve of how you have let your grief consume you," Claeo asked. "She would be ashamed." The mirror flashed for a moment as Claeo turned to look at something none of them could see. When she turned back, she said, "Are you sending reinforcements down here? That's cute."

"Fire!" Guledel said. Armus barked an order into the device in his hand.

Claeo leaned in close so that her face filled nearly the entire view.

"I'm coming for you."

There was the sound of a distant boom as the view went dark. Armus spoke with another of the morloki before saying, "The launch was a success. The arsenal has been destroyed."

Guledel smiled. "Send a team down to confirm she and whoever is with her are dead. And take an external camera with you. I wasn't to see it for myself."

Peregrin couldn't believe that they were dead. He wanted to reach out with his mind and see if Claeo was there, but with the collar around his neck, he didn't dare. Yet a strange peace came over him. He knew that Eru was their only option now. Without Him, they were lost.

A few breathless minutes passed and then one of the mirrors changed to a view that, unlike the others, was not static. The camera stood shakily at a distance from the building in question, but they didn't need to see up close to assess the damage. What was left of the third level arsenal was a smoking burning shell of a building shrouded in mist. There was a stone pedestal with a statue standing in the circular court yard in front of it.

After watching Guledel issue a few orders into to the device in his hand, Peregrin ascertained that they were seeing what the morloki saw. The one bearing the view that they saw through hung back as the others advanced. The entire courtyard area was covered in a few inches of water and steam was rising from it. The snow had been melted somehow. Peregrin could hear the morloki sloshing as they approached the charred remains of the building.

"No signs of life," he heard one report.

Most of the group were making their way around the courtyard, some slipping on the wet stones under their feet. One morloke stopped and was examining something under the ankle deep water.

Then the wind shifted and the steam was blown away. A large object was unveiled lying on the other side of the courtyard.

"What is that object," Armus spoke into his device. "Identify."

Several morloki moved to examine it. "It is a broken statue," one reported. "Must have been destroyed in the explosion."

For a moment, you could have heard a pin drop as everyone realized the truth.

"Look up you fools!" Armus yelled.

* * *

The morloki swung their guns up at the unbroken cloaked shape above them. But their realization came too late. Suddenly arches of electricity sprung from the water at their feet. Many of them screamed in pain, but a few simply fell dead, the electric current so strong their entire bodies were fried.

The group that had hung back with the camera bearer looked on helplessly as nearly 30 of them were killed instantly.

A hand appeared beneath the cloak and the statue was revealed to be Claire standing on top of what was left of the stone monument. She held out a remote control for the electric collars. They had been placed just beneath the water in the courtyard. She casually threw the remote behind her.

Claire pulled the cloak from her shoulders and threw it aside as well. As the cloth billowed away from her in the gathering wind, blue flame enveloped her from head to foot. Her hair swept upwards and she spun her sword in a bright sweeping arc.

The young woman smiled and lept from the pedestal. As she flew over the electrified water and towards the horde of armed morloki, the fire around her shifted from blue to white. Her feet touched pavement first. She landed in a parkour roll and spun around, her blade carving a bright circle of fire in the pavement. The morloki backed away from the sheer heat emanating from her. She crouched before them, her left hand forward, sword behind her, pale fire blazing. Slowly she stood and stared at their fear with an amused smirk.

* * *

"Don't just stand there!" Guledel screamed into Armus' device. "Shoot her!"

In the mirror, they saw one morloke raise it's weapon and fire. Claeo's head jerked ever so slightly. Her burning white hair shifted with the movement as she looked back at the morloke and smiled.

From behind Claeo advanced another person, clad from head to foot in armor. He carried a huge gun and across his back was hung some other kind of long weapon that looked even more formidable. A few of the morloki began to shoot at the armor clad person, but the bullets bounced off of him. He raised his gun and with a deafening buzz of light and fury, several of the morloki were shot down.

Yet the most unsettling thing for Guledel was Claeo herself. She was staring directly at the morloki who's view they saw through. Even when the armored man had come to stand by her side and exchanged fire with their enemies, she didn't look away.

At last, she took a step forward and they could see the ripple of the air as the heat from her fire increased. The mirror went dark, the final image Claire's smiling face framed by pale flame.

* * *

The morloki were done being scared. As Claire began to walk forward, they opened fire and the bullets bounced off of her like agitated insects. Bergil came behind her, firing upon the morloki and taking down more than could be counted.

This was taking too long. Claire's time was limited. The time for showing off was over.

Signaling Bergil to follow her, Claire brandished her sword and jumped into the horde of morloki. With her fire blazing, several of them fell back screaming and covered in burns. The rest tried to attack her with their claws, but they shattered against her indestructible form. She was leaping, jumping, slicing, and burning as she began to run. Bergil ran behind her, his head low and his rifle blasting. They were mowing them down like grass. Even when several morloki tried to dogpile on Claire, her heat became so intense that they burst into flame and fell to the ground dead. Before Claire and Bergil realized it, they were almost through the 4th level. Only two more to go.

* * *

"Report," Guledel said firmly. In the midst of the chaos, nearly every mirror was blank. Armus was checking every view that was working and frantically conversing with other morloki. Every transmission from the morloki in the city was filled with screams and panicked voices. Peregrin glanced at Prisca who gave him a hopeful look. Turion was also watching with wide eyes.

"She is coming for him," the vanaloke said. "My sister will be avenged."

Guledel heard his comment and swung his staff around. The end of it glowed ominously.

"Keep silent beast," the elf spat. "Unless you would like to join her."

"Nothing would make me happier," the vanaloke said calmly. "I would gladly have my last memory in this land be witnessing the beginning of your end."

"How can they still be alive," Armus asked in a worried tone. "We destroyed the building the transmission was coming from."

"It was a recording," Guledel growled. "She wasn't in the building when the transmission was sent." The elf leaned on the desk in front of the wall of mirrors and tried to compose himself. Peregrin could tell that the elf hadn't expected this and it was tearing him up inside.

"Sir!" a morloke called. "We have a visual! The camera from the Citadel wall shows them on the sixth level now. They are cutting their way through."

"Perhaps we should send the final asset down Sir?" Armus asked.

"No," Guledel said with surprising calmness. "The asset is our final line of defense before I destroy her myself. Focus all your firepower on her and whoever that man is with her. Wear them down."

* * *

The gate leading into the Citadel was black with morloki. Claire and Bergil saw it from a distance as dozens of the dark creatures stood in front of the large wooden door. With countless of their comrades dead and smoldering on the lower levels, this group apparently was going on the defensive by trying to block their way.

Bergil turned his helmeted head to Claire and asked, "May I?" She could hear the anticipation in his voice.

She nodded. "Light it up."

Bergil fell to one knee and swung the rocket launcher around his shoulders. He fired and the kick nearly knocked him backward. The explosion was enough to break the stone archway above the door as splintered wood and reptilian bodies flew in all directions. The two humans boldly stepped through the carnage and entered the Citadel.

The inner passages where thick with more morloki. They covered the walls and ceiling like spiders in a nest. Still Bergil and Claire ran, the attacks and weapons of the creatures no match for Claire's protective fire. As they entered the large open area in front of the vast pier, Claire thought back to when she and Peregrin had stood in this same place and looked out on the clouds of Mordor. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

As Claire and Bergil came in view of the doors of the throne room, nearly 100 morloki stood before them, every gun aimed their way. They fired and Bergil leaned into the projectiles as they battered against his armor. Claire advanced as bullets bounced off of her. About 30 yards ahead were the large doors of the throne room and behind them was the infamous Abberator. She had reached her goal. It was time to finish this.

The morloki ceased firing as a large shadow descended from above. It was the last dragon, the largest of all three. It dug its claws into the stones beneath its feet and roared. Cold flame sprang from its mouth as the morloki fell back and out of the way. The cold beam swept past Bergil and Claire heard him scream. The young man dropped his gun and wrenched his helmet off. The blast had frozen his helmet to a searing cold temperature. That armor might have stopped bullets, but if a blast hit him again, he would be done for.

Without even thinking, Claire sped towards him as the dragon opened its mouth again. The blast caught her full in the chest as she stood before her friend. Fire and ice blazed against each other as Claire gritted her teeth and dug her heels into the ground.

Then she began to advance. At last she was so close that the dragon stopped its flame and its jaws snapped down upon her. She twisted out of the way and caught a fist-full of the creature's white scraggly mane as the head swung upwards. The dragon thrashed and made a full 180 degree turn as it tried to shake her off. Her fire was already beginning to burn it's flesh beyond repair but it wasn't working fast enough to kill it.

Bergil and the morloki looked on as the dragon whipped its head and Claire was flung up into the air. As she came back down, she spun, her flaming sword whirling around like a bright neon band saw. It sliced clean through the dragon's neck. Claire landed in a crouch as the dragon's severed head thudded just behind her. The beast's body writhed for a moment and then began to burn away to nothing.

She was standing before the doors of the throne room now with a slain dragon behind her. The morloki had retreated and Bergil again brandished his rifle.

Bergil blew the lock off of the doors with a satisfying _POW! _He kicked the door in and at last the two battle worn humans came face to face with their target.


	33. The Catalyst

**The Catalyst**

Guledel stood framed by a wall of monitors. As Claire and Bergil entered the room, every morloke fixed their weapon on them but didn't fire. On the right-hand side, Peregrin, Prisca, and Turion were on their knees with their hands tied behind their back. They all wore those electric metal coils around their necks.

The tall, short haired elf leaned on his staff. The gemstone set in the tip of it glowed with an undulating soft teal light.

"The Venë Faeur I presume," Guledel said smoothly.

"Dispense with the pleasantries you snake," Claire said tightening the grip on her sword. "I'm here to neutralize you for your actions as the Abberator and for the murder of my friends."

The elf chuckled. "Neutralize? Did the hobbit male not tell you? You can't kill me."

"Then why are you so scared," Claire asked. "If you are invulnerable, then why don't you relax a bit?" Claire, still bright with blue flame, took a step forward and Guledel raised his hand.

"Stop," he said. Claire saw the remote for the collars gripped between his fingers. "If you come one step closer, I will burn the brains of all three of your comrades."

Bergil shifted hesitantly behind Claire. His weapon was pointed outward, but he wasn't sure where to aim. There were so many morloki in the room, if he took a shot, surely they would put a bullet in his now exposed head.

Claire held up her empty hand in a defensive manner and took another step forward. "Oh I don't think we will need to worry about that."

The elf blinked. Then his eyes narrowed and he pressed the remote.

Nothing happened. Prisca looked up in surprise.

Guledel clicked the remote again and again. Still no shock came from the collars.

"Not sure if you figured this one out yet," Claire said. "But this-" she gestured to the flames enveloping her form. "This doesn't mix well with electrical currents. You should have stuck to magic."

Prisca's collar snapped and flew from her neck. With a thought, Peregrin and Turion's collars came off along with the bindings on their wrists. The necks of the morloki standing near them snapped and fell to the floor.

Then several things happened all at once. The morloki opened fire. Prisca threw up her hands and the bullets from their guns hung in mid-air. Behind them Bergil began taking out morloki one by one. Claire was focused on Guledel as he backed away behind his minions.

In the midst of this, Armus suddenly appeared behind Bergil. The morloke had been hiding in the shadows waiting for the perfect moment to take out the only one of them that carried a gun. The nails of his large clawed hand stabbed into Bergil's brain and the young man screamed. The large blaster rifle he had been carrying dropped from his hands.

Peregrin threw himself towards Bergil, slid on his knees, and caught the rifle in both hands. Twisting around, the hobbit thrust the barrel of the rifle upward between Bergil and Armus. The barrel made contact with the morloke's jaw and before the creature had time to react, Peregrin pulled the trigger. The morloke's head jerked back as the top of his head exploded with a sickening crunch. His claws withdrew from Bergil's skull and the morloke fell backward and crumpled in a heap at Peregrin's feet. Bergil was on his hands and knees gasping for air.

At the death of their captain and seeing that their bullets did nothing against these foes, those morloki still left alive fled the throne room. They were no match for the burning woman and her companions.

Seeing Guledel stand alone, Turion turned on the Elf, his claws extended. The staff flashed and Turion tipped to the floor, completely turned to stone. Guledel stood next to him and raised his staff.

"Stand down! Or he joins his sister."

Prisca lowered her hands. Claire's still held her sword, but her arms felt weak as she stared at Turion. She had never seen someone get turned to stone and even after all that she had been through it hadn't been easy to watch.

"Stand down," the elf said again, his eyes narrowing at her. Claire slowly placed her sword on the floor. She stood before him weaponless and she willed the fire that enveloped her to dissipate.

The elf smiled and quicker than anything, spun his staff around and pointed it at Claire. There was a flash of light as energy blasted from the bright tip. Claire put out her hand and as the energy touched it, her skin began to crack and turn grey. Stone began to spread up her arm and before she could take a breath everything went black.

* * *

Prisca was sure her heart had stopped. Cold dread washed over her as she beheld Claeo frozen into stone. Yet as Guledel opened his mouth to gloat over his victory, something began to happen. Like fire burning across paper, warm color was returning to Claeo.

* * *

Darkness gave way to a warmth that spread over Claire and suddenly she stood before them perfectly fine. She gasped in air and looked down at herself. Guledel gawked. He pointed the staff at her again and the blast of magic struck her in the chest. Grey stone washed over Claire's form, but as quickly as it spread, it was gone. The spell wouldn't take.

Guledel yelled in anger as he leaned into his staff, the magical beam continuously pushing against Claire, but with no effect. At last the elf stopped and in a burst of rage he ran forward and swung at Claire. She ducked, grabbed her sword from the floor and spun around to catch his staff. She willed herself to burn hot and she felt her own flesh begin to heat. She was fireproof, but somehow Guledel's spell still threw her own attack back on her. She grimaced in pain as the glowing end of Guledel's staff drew close to her face. The long bright teal gem set into the end pulsed. As it drew closer, she thought she heard a low hum. Yet the more she focused on it, the more the noise sounded like a voice. That was when it hit her.

The Nolmirë. The gem of knowledge. The very thing that Palanion had warned would cause all this chaos. It was set into the end of Guledel's staff.

Claire pushed the elf back. Reaching down she drew a hidden pistol from a holster strapped to her thigh. She raised it just in time to meet Guledel's face. He backed away several feet.

"Peregrin did tell me about your little trick," Claire panted, the pain of the heat still tingling her skin. "He said that whatever I do to you will be done to me. And he also told me that you can heal really fast. But I'll bet that if I put a bullet in your brain, it will be enough to kill us both dead."

The elf held his arms out and said, "Why don't you try and we can find out together. I know it's what you want."

"Is it?" Claire said, her eyes narrowing in anger. "You killed my friends. You and your minions have made my life a living hell for the past few months-"

"Oh it's been longer than that," Guledel said with a clever grin. "Didn't you ever wonder where Morlyg got the book? I gave it to her. I knew that if the story you hold so dear was threatened, you would come. Since the day my brother prophesied about you, I have made it my goal to destroy you. I was the one who told Morlyg to target the hobbits. I also raised her from the ashes of Orodruin and gave her that metal arm and her army of gryphons with the goal of killing everyone you held dear in this world. And I was the one who drilled into the earth to unleash the morloki to hunt for you. Don't you see? I have been the one who has caused you every hurt and every scar." The three long scars on Claire's face seemed to burn at his words. "You would be wise to kill me."

Claire's grip on the pistol tightened as she swallowed hard.

The others stood by watching breathlessly. No one seemed to object to what Guledel was suggesting. They knew that he had to be stopped even if it meant the worst of consequences, but that didn't make it any easier. Bergil now stood with his hands balled into fists. Prisca's face was stained with tears and Peregrin watched with wide eyes.

Claire's jaw tightened. Just one bullet. That was all it would take. He was wide open just standing there. His staff was in his right hand held up in a non-threatening manner. It was too easy.

"You know what Guledel," Claire said at last. "I have to commend you. You really did your homework for this whole thing. But there is still one thing you don't know."

The elf frowned as a hint of doubt spread across his face. "And what is that?"

"I'm a really good shot."

The gun discharged. As the bullet flew towards Guledel, the world seemed to go in slow motion. It was the longest millisecond any of them had ever experienced. Claire stood triumphant, her gun still held outwards as the projectile found its mark.

The head of Guledel's staff shattered as the bullet tore through it. The Nolmirë, a gem like it unharmed by a mere bullet, broke free of its casing. Prisca reached out with her mind and the jewel flew upwards. Claire reached up and caught it in her right hand. The rest of Guledel's staff shattered like glass as it disintegrated in the elf's hand.

The statue of Turion suddenly became flexible as the vanaloke collapsed to the floor, the spell undone.

For a moment, that faint voice Claire had heard earlier was in her mind. She had knowledge beyond measure in the palm of her hand. Yet in that place, standing in the Citadel throne room before her enemy, there was only one thing she was unsure of and that didn't matter anymore. Her fate was in the hands of Eru.

"Pressure and intense heat applied to a great gem," Claire said with a sly grin. "That was how you made a portal last time." The fire around Claire's hand began to intensify as the fire enveloping her became white. The air rippled with heat around her fist clutching the Nolmirë.

She looked up at the elf and said in a deep unwavering voice, "Guledel of the Noldor, I make my pronouncement upon you and this world."

"Be mindful," the elf said, his hands slightly trembling. "You also make this pronouncement upon yourself. Think about what you are doing."

"I am well aware," Claire said with a regretful smile. "Otherwise I wouldn't know what to pronounce. Also I have to ask... do you know where your wooden box is?"

The elf's confident gaze faltered. He slowly reached into his pocket and checked that something was still there.

"My first command is that I hereby banish you from Middle-earth. When once you breath the air of the world I send you to, you will never be able to use rings or anything you have stolen from the Wood Between the Worlds to leave that world ever again. None save the hand of Eru can help you escape."

The text around Claire's arm began to glow as she uttered these words. The realm spell was working.

"Second, from this moment forward, all records of your existence and events in which you were involved, will cease to exist. All you have done to impact this world: your association with Morlyg, what happened in Minas Tirith two years ago, the existence of the morloki, as well as the safehouse below and the records of your brother, will all be utterly forgotten. History will not change, but the memories and records of others will. Your legacy will cease to be.

"Third, no one in Middle-earth east of the Sundering Sea, save these four who stand with me, will ever remember you."

Claire glanced at Peregrin and Prisca. They both looked on with knowing glances, yet their sadness made Claire's heart break at what she was about to do.

"Fourth, when you next breathe the air of another realm," Claire said. "You will forget all that has happened here. You will not remember your life here or those you knew. This spell transcends time. And henceforth it shall echo in the past as well as the future so that no temporal shift or otherworldly endeavour will ever countermand it."

The text on Claire's arm blazed as the flaming jewel in her hand grew hotter. Tears began to stream from her glowing eyes.

"These shall come to pass when you leave this world. Thus says the servant of Eru."

For a moment, they were all silent. At last Guledel spoke up.

"Whatever world you banish me to," he said sharply. "I will destroy it."

"Oh I expect nothing less," Claire said. "You see, I figured out who you are and I know exactly where you are going." Claire began to walk towards Guledel, the flaming Nolmirë held in front of her. The gem was growing hotter with every passing second.

"The thing is Guledel, for all your travels and your scheming you made one grave mistake. You picked my favorite story to ruin." Claire's words felt heavy on the air. The elf stood warily as she advanced slowly toward him. "That was a mistake. The irony is that you created what you were trying to prevent. I'm not really the one you've been fighting this whole time. You shake your fist at Eru and you blame Him for the death of your wife, but really...all this time...you have no one to blame but yourself."

She was standing in front of him now, her eyes shining, her hair caught up in the heat surrounding her.

"We all have grief," Claire said. "What matters is what we do with it. Do we let it shape us into the people we are meant to become: kind and compassionate? Or do we let it turn us into monsters like you?"

"If you do this," the elf said shakily. "You will forget all of this. You will live a life of misery always wondering and wishing for a past you can't recall."

Claire chuckled. "I already have that life. But if it means freeing this world along with the people I love and sending you where you belong, I'd gladly live that life."

"How can you make such a choice?" Tears of anger were welling up in Guledel's eyes.

"Because I trust Him," Claire said softly. "Even in the darkness, I know He is still there. And I would take a lifetime of darkness with Him by my side over a day in the light alone."

Claire's grip on the gem tightened. A fine crack began to form in the flawless surface as it began to glow so bright, Guledel could hardly look at it. A thunderous roar began rumble as air and energy began to swirl around Claire and the elf. He seemed shorter now and she was almost looming over him, bright and ablaze with pale and intense flame. The young girl bent over him and got right in his face.

"You messed with the wrong nerd," she said and then added, "Enjoy Atlantis."

Claire thrust her hand against the elf's chest. The Nolmirë shattered between her fingers. A flash of energy spread out from her hand as the portal began to form. Guledel screamed as the force of the tear in space and time drew him in. For a split second he stood before her, his eyes filled with hatred and anger. The next second he was gone.

The portal drew Claire in as well. For a moment, she saw blue sky and ocean swirling around her. But then suddenly she stood on the marble floor again. Was the portal moving away from her? No, she was moving away from it. She turned and saw that the others were holding on to the pillars in the throne room. The force of the mini singularity was pulling everything in. Several of the monitors and equipment flew from their moorings and were sucked through.

Prisca stood, her eyes glowing and hands outstretched. She was holding Claire with her mind, keeping her from being pulled in. The hobbit drew her closer and the two friends reached for each other amidst the swirling chaos. At last Prisca threw her arms around her. Claire hugged her tight as the portal imploded on itself. A shockwave of light blasted over them as the spell took its final effect.

The last thing Claire remembered before she blacked out was holding her hobbit friend in her arms and wishing that she never had to let go.


	34. The Song

**The Song**

When Claire opened her eyes, sunlight streamed in and blinded her. There were birds singing and she felt a gentle breeze. She squinted in the bright light as the voice of a young man called her name.

"Fredrick?" she managed.

"Who's Fredrick?"

Bergi's face came into view. He was leaning over her as she lay on the marble floor of the throne room. Claire sat up slowly and looked around. There was no sign of the altercation. All the tech that had been set up was gone. Claire looked up and saw that the large hole that had been in the roof was repaired.

"How long was I out," Claire asked as Bergil helped her to her feet.

"About a half hour," Prisca said. Claire turned to see her hobbit friend and the two embraced again.

"You saved me," Claire said as she held her friend tight. "Thank you."

When they came apart, Prisca said, "No Claeo. Thank _you._" The hobbit took Claire's right hand in hers. She turned it over and they both saw that the realm spell was gone.

"Excuse me," a voice said. Prisca and Claire turned to see a familiar face walking up to them. Losswen was dressed in a higher level uniform and her hair was now down around her shoulders. "Who are you young lady? I was not notified of any visitors to the Citidel throneroom today."

Claire almost said the woman's name, but then bowed her head sadly. Prisca opened her mouth to speak.

"She is my guest," Peregrin said coming to stand beside her. "Forgive me for not notifying you Lady Lossewn." He gave Prisca and Claire a knowing look. The young woman gave a polite nod and walked away.

The doors to the throne room were wide open to the outside courtyard. Claire walked slowly out into the afternoon sunlight. The air was cool, but there wasn't a single snowflake to be seen. The sky was deep blue and white puffy clouds drifted lazily towards the east. Birds were singing cheerfully as down below in the city, people went about their day.

"Everything is back to normal," Claire said as she took in the scene. "We did it."

"History has been rewritten," Prisca said. "All Guledel ever did has been forgotten."

"But not changed," Bergil said as he came to stand next to them. "All the people he hurt and the lives he changed...does everyone just remember it happening differently?"

Losswen walked past them and again gave them a polite nod.

"It would seem so," Claire said.

* * *

Twenty-four hours later, Claire, Turion, Bergil, Peregrin, and Prisca stood around a newly carved monument. They were in the gardens beneath what had been Varin's workshop. The stone remains of Laimellon had remained unchanged. Her brother and Bergil buried the stone pieces and Peregrin had commissioned a simple column of stone with her name inscribed upon it.

It was a simple funeral for such a great warrior. Claire was finally able to mourn the death of her friend and she wept bitterly.

"Laemellon saved my life," she said. "My only regret is that I was never able to come close to repaying her for what she did for me. She was a true friend and I will miss her."

Then Turion spoke.

"My sister loved her people. Though I know she was reluctant to fulfill her duty, she left the island willingly. She was indeed the great one that was prophesied of old. It is said that the vanaloki join the elves in the halls of the dead, finally united with the Children of Illuvatar. I shall see my sister again someday. Of that I have no doubt. By Illuvatar's grace, may she rest."

Last of all, Prisca got up to speak.

"When I first started traveling with Claeo, I began to write a poem. All good adventurers write poems I thought. But I couldn't ever finish it. Then after Claeo left and Laemellon began to look after me, she helped me finish it. She was good at poems. It's about Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo's stories that I loved reading so much growing up."

Then Prisca began to sing. The first part of the song Claire recognized, yet the tune was what struck her the most.

_Away, Away, __Come away with me._

_Where tears have stained_

_The shores of the sea._

* * *

_Away, Away,__And I will tell_

_The tales of mortals and elf-kind._

* * *

_Come, Come, __To western lands_

_Where halflings dwell_

_Where a mallorn stands_

* * *

_Come, Come, __To Imladris_

_Where shadows of song still linger._

* * *

_Away, Away, __To Arda grey,_

_Where the elves have left_

_But the mortals must stay._

* * *

_Away, Away, __To Lorien,_

_Where the Lady's enchantment has faded._

* * *

_Come, Come, __To Esgaroth,_

_Where dragons once plundered_

_And dwarves have trod._

* * *

_Come, Come, __To the Misty Mountains,_

_That stand for ages uncounted._

* * *

_Away, Away, __Come away with me,_

_Where the plains roll far_

_And the Mearas run free._

* * *

_Away, Away, __To the Red Horn Gate,_

_To Isengard where the Ents have stayed._

* * *

_Come, Come, __To Fangorn's trees,_

_Where Periannath hid _

_beneath the eaves._

* * *

_Come to the __Pellennor Fields,_

_Where Eowyn of Rohan a sword did wield._

* * *

_Come, Come, __To Minas Tirith,_

_Where the tree flowers 'neath _

_the stars of Elbereth._

* * *

_Sing, Sing, __Of times long ago, _

_of a halfling, a ring, and a shadow._

* * *

_Do you know? Do you know?_

_Of the land I sing?_

_Of broken hearts_

_Of wondrous things._

* * *

_The legend, the story,_

_And the tale untold._

* * *

_Of immortal fears,_

_Of undying years._

_Of a halfling's tears._

_Of a Ring of Gold._

As Prisca sang, the hobbit girl stood straight and proud, her hands folded in front of her. This image of the singing hobbit filled Claire's eyes with tears. She would be leaving soon and when she went home, she would remember none of this. That broke Claire's heart more than anything.

"Oh Eru," she prayed silently as she stood by Laemellon's memorial. "Have mercy on me and let me remember something. Even if it's something small. I beg you. Please."

* * *

The third day finally came. Noon of the third day approached as Bergil and Claire walked to the first level garden. The young man looked fresher than Claire ever remembered him. He wore a tunic with the emblem of the white tree stitched on the chest and a new sword hung at his side.

"And you're sure Guledel will not have harmed your world when you get back," Bergil asked.

"I don't think he will be a problem," Claire said with a wry smile. "If the history of that box he had tells me anything, he will have died a very long time ago by my world's time."

Bergil gave her a curious look. Claire smiled and said, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you… There is a set of books in my world called 'The Chronicles of Narnia.' Narnia is another world, different from my world and much different from Middle-earth. One of the books tells of a magician from my world who got hold of a wooden box. A box containing dust that he used to make realm jumping rings. And that box supposedly came from a lost continent called Atlantis, a legendary land that sank beneath the waves of the sea. I wondered if that was the same box that Guledel had. I was betting on it when we confronted him. I knew that if he was the one who brought that box to Atlantis, then my proclamation was clear. Banishing him there would fulfill the past and he would not be killed by mortal hands, just like Palanion predicted. He would drown in the sea in a world other than his own. But to be honest I wasn't 100% sure until he tried to turn me to stone."

"Why was that?"

"Because it didn't work," Claire said. "In another of the 'Chronicles', there was a evil queen by the name of Jadis. She had a wand that could turn people to stone. But Eru's breath could restore her victims. That same breath was, and is, upon me. If what Peregrin told me about his encounter with Guledel is correct, I think Guledel had a piece of Jadis' wand inlaid in his staff. It's effects couldn't harm me. That connection seemed to be a confirmation that we were on the right path and that my suspicions were correct."

The late winter air was clear that day as they drew near to the statue. Peregrin and Prisca were there waiting.

"I suppose this is goodbye," Claire said looking up at Bergil.

"I suppose it is," he said solemnly.

Claire studied him for a moment and then said, "I'm sorry for all the secrets I kept from you. You and Turion were very chivalrous and I appreciate that."

"Well," Bergil said. "It was mostly Turion. I'm sorry I was such a child towards you at the beginning. I suppose my attitude hadn't changed much since the last time you met me."

Claire smiled. "Perhaps. But I think you have grown up into a man worthy of respect. And you were grieving the loss of your father. Grief can make us do foolish things."

Bergil bowed his head and nodded. "I suppose that's one good thing Guledel did. He showed us what we can become if we are not careful."

The young man paused, staring at Claire. "I have one more thing I would like answered," he said. He reached out and stroked the side her face. The three long scars from her first death were still there. "Why do you still have these?"

"I don't know for sure," Claire said thoughtfully. "But I think that some scars don't heal entirely. I know that once in my world, One man still had the scars of his death after coming back to life. They are a reminder of where we have been and where we are going. That death is not the end."

Claire smiled up at him. Bergil blushed as she took his face in her hands and said, "Thank you, Bergil son of Beregond. You are as much, if not more the man that your father was." Then she stood on her tip toes and kissed him on the forehead.

Bergil, still rosy cheeked, pulled away from her. He smiled and gave her a Gondorian salute. Claire did the same. He walked away and Claire had peace.

She turned to the monument and to the two hobbits standing there.

"How much time do we have left," she asked.

"About ten minutes," Peregrin said.

Claire walked up to the statue of herself. Standing face to face with the young girl from two years ago was a strange thing. The name plaque at the base of the statue had been blank since she cast the Catalyst spell, her name scrubbed clean. Peregrin had tried to have her name chiseled into the rock again, but the letters disappeared. Any record of Claire was impossible to preserve now. At last he simply had it say "Not forgotten" and the words stuck.

As she laid her sword in the statue's hands, Claire saw that the blade reflected the sun and seemed to glow. She stepped back and for a moment she was almost ready to go home. But as she knelt on the ground next to Peregrin and Prisca, her feelings of sorrow welled up again.

"Peregrin," she began. "I can't tell you what an honor it was to know you as my friend. Thank you for forgiving me all those years ago. Words can't describe how thankful I am for your friendship."

The hobbit took her hands in his. "As am I Claeo. You saved my life and you have given up so much for all of us. The honor was mine."

Then Claire turned to Prisca. The two embraced and when they came apart, Claire said, "I always wanted a sister and God gave me you. I'm so thankful for you Prisca! My only regret is that I can't take you with me." Claire sobbed as they embraced a final time.

"I would go with you if I could. I love you Claeo. I never had a friend until I met you. And I will miss you terribly."

"As will I," Claire sniffed. She pulled away from Prisca and said, "I will miss you both so much. I - I know I won't remember you, but if there is anything within my power and if Eru wills it, I will somehow. That promise I make to you both."

Peregrin took Claire's hand, as did Prisca, and the three joined in a circle of friends. The sun was climbing to high noon. There were only minutes left.

"Don't forget me," Claire said as she looked at the hobbits before her with tearfilled eyes.

"We will remember you Claeo," Peregrin said. "Now and for always."

And then they were gone.

Claire clutched at empty space as she felt herself rising. When she came out of the pool, tears were still flowing from her eyes. She collapsed in the grass and sobbed bitterly.

She heard soft footfalls on the earth nearby. Claire raised her head and saw.

He was there. The Lion she had seen in the snow. The One who had called her out of her own world without the use of rings. She had never been able to use them to enter or exit her own world anyway. The spell she had cast had always been at work since the beginning.

She ran to Him and threw her arms around His mane. He licked away her tears with a lion's kiss and as she looked into His golden eyes, she felt peace.

"Will I really forget everything?" she asked Him.

The Lion nodded as He looked at her with compassion. "Yes, dear one. Just as your rival forgot to seek his vengeance in your world, so will you also forget."

"But what good is it," Claire asked. "The Pevensies were sent to Narnia to learn something. What good is it for me to come to Middle-earth and not learn anything?"

"Child, that is not your story," He said. "You have walked through war, fire, and death. The person you are in your own realm is not ready for such things. You are still young and have much to learn."

The Lion smiled and Claire couldn't pull herself away from His gaze.

"But there are gifts, dear one. Not all spells are unbreakable. Be mindful and trust in Me. You are still a Realm Jumper. I have a task for you in your own world."

He said more after that, but Claire's mind had begun to fade. The last thing she recalled was His bright eyes staring back at her and then…

* * *

"Claire, wake up."

She stirred in her sleeping bag as Frederick stood outside her tent.

"Breakfast is ready," he said. "Or do you need more sleep after your traumatic episode?"

"Hmm?" Claire muttered. "What episode?"

Frederick huffed. "You mean you don't remember what happened?"

Claire opened the tent door and stared at him with a blank expression.

"You woke me up the middle of the night because the laptop died, remember? You didn't get to see the end of _The Matrix_."

"Oh," Claire said. "Oh yeah. Sorry about that."

"Well get up when you like," he said.

Claire lay in her sleeping back for a moment staring up at the inside of her tent. She had the funny feeling that she had forgotten something, but couldn't put her finger on it. At last she brushed it off and got ready for breakfast.

* * *

It was nearly two months later before Claire found herself drawn to the piano. It was strange. She had given up the instrument a year before and had sworn never to touch it again. There were too many traumatic recital memories. Yet as she sat down on the bench and her fingertips brushed the white and black keys, something stirred within her.

She began to play Greensleeves. It was the only song that she could recall. As her fingers moved, a memory began to stir in her mind. The image of a hobbit girl singing. She stopped, her eyes wide.

"Prisca," she whispered. The image of Prisca in her mind was blurred. Claire couldn't hear her voice or see her face but she knew it was her. Like the dim but definite memory of a vivid dream, she was there, singing the song she had written with Laemellon's help.

Claire sprang up from the piano. She rushed to her room and grabbed her sketchbook. The memory was fading but she would preserve it. Somehow that song was a trigger for her memories. She didn't really understand why she had forgotten, but that didn't seem to matter now. Now all that she wanted to do was draw. She would draw all of them. Prisca, Peregrin, Elrain, Laemellon, and even Bergil and Turion. She would draw them and remember.

And for the rest of Claire Bernhart's life, that is exactly what she did.


	35. Prisca's Final Entry

**Prisca's Final Entry**

Dear reader,

Much has happened in the days since my friend's departure. I am unable to write her name in this entry since it will vanish if I even try.

Bergil remained in Minas Tirith where he stayed with his uncle and became a warden of the City. Things in the capitol have never been better. Peregrin was offered a very honorable position after the King's return, but he turned it down. He and I have both had enough of adventures.

Turion left shortly after that. He assured me that his people would hold Laemellon in the highest reverence and that her tale would be passed down through the ages until the world's end. I imagine that Turion will make an excellent king of the vanaloki.

As for Peregrin and I, we went home. I'll admit that we cheated a little. You see, the staff that the Owl, or rather Elrain, had used was left in the throne room where she died. It still had one more use, so Peregrin and I used it to return to Hobbiton in a single step. My parents were overjoyed to see me. I regret not returning to them sooner.

Peregrin has since settled down. The rumor is that he has met someone and is contemplating marriage.

I returned to Hobbiton last week for the first time since the fateful day I first read about my friend. My mother and father think I'm very capable of taking care of myself now. I'll confess that I did see Hogarth, that impertinent boy who used to terrorize me. While I didn't confront him or really even say a word to him, he did trip and land face first into a basket of tomatoes at the recent fair as I walked by. I can't imagine what could have caused that.

Seeing Mr. Gamgee again was a thrill. He, Rose, and a now much older Elanor were very happy to see me. The most curious thing was the Red Book itself. I looked for the sentence about my friend, but it was gone. I'm afraid all traces of her have been erased.

I think about her often. I wonder what life is like in that wonderous world of hers. Perhaps she has moved on with no memory of us at all. Yet I have peace in my heart that my friend will find a way to remember us. But more than that I pray that Eru will grant her with what she needs to remember _who_ she is.

Sincerely,

Prisca Baggins


	36. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The scent of coffee filled the air as Claire Bernhart shuffled into the kitchen of her dingy flat. A new town and a new job after college was what she had hoped for, but she had no idea how exhausting adulthood would actually be. It was Saturday, a day to unwind and waste time on the internet. That was one of the great perks of her independence. She could watch all the Youtube she wanted.

And there was a lot to catch up on. With the first Hobbit movie less than a year and a half away, there were countless rumors and speculation to take it. Claire sat down in her chair and gave a deep and satisfying sigh. She took a sip of coffee and opened her laptop.

Perusing the selection on Youtube brought up the vlog called "Hobbit in 5." She clicked play and the smiling face of a dark haired woman looked back at her. The woman began to go over the latest Hobbit related news and articles featured on the one ring dot net.

Claire lifted her mug for another sip... and then nearly choked.

She scrubbed the video back and played the beginning again. And again. A fourth time was still not enough. She quickly found the link to the article on the BBC's website and her eyes grew wide. Her breathing felt shallow. She couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Claire slumped back in her chair. She put a hand on her forehead and stared at the ceiling.

"Could it be? It - it …" She trailed off, her mouth still agape.

She looked back at the screen and sat in silence for a moment.

"Thank you," she said with a thoughtful smile. "It's nice to have proof."

And this is what the article said:

* * *

**Charity book thefts upset staff in Truro**

_8 August 2011_

Several rare volumes have been stolen from the Oxfam store in Truro. The latest book to be taken is a copy of Tolkien's Lord of the Rings worth around £150. The shop receives up to 3,000 second-hand books a week in donations, including valuable, collectable volumes. The shop's deputy manager, Helen Moss, said discovering stock had been stolen was distressing for the staff. "It's upsetting, not just because something has been stolen, but £150, with the East Africa crisis, could really make a lot of difference to lives out there." Staff at the Cornwall Hospice Care charity shop in Truro said they rarely put valuable books on display. A volunteer, Janice Hoskyns, said: "I think it's the lowest of the low to steal from charity because you never know when you're going to need the charity yourself."


End file.
